Dancing in the Dark
by QueenMindi
Summary: A No Imprints AU. If the La Push wolves didn't have the ability to imprint, they'd have to find true love the hard way, like the rest of us. But will they be able to see what's right in front of them...before it's too late?
1. Prologue

Note: Title and all song quotes from Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark."

This first chapter is just background info on the AU, what has happened up until now. Much more to come...

**Dancing in the Dark**

Prologue

_You can't start a fire,_

_Can't start a fire without a spark…_

Without the compulsion of imprinting to guide them in their love lives, the La Push wolf pack went somewhat astray.

Jacob finally gave up on Bella when he heard that she was marrying Edward. Though he returned to La Push after running away, he refused to see Bella again; still, when he heard that she was carrying Edward's demon spawn and was probably going to die, he was inflamed with rage and convinced Sam and the rest of the pack that they should kill the thing as soon as it was born. And if the Cullens died in the process, well, so much the better.

However, by the time they got word that it was born, someone else had got there first: the Volturi. The pack obviously liked the Volturi even less than they liked the Cullens, but they decided reluctantly that, if they and the vamps had a mutual interest (namely, destruction of the demon child), they could stand to help them out just this once.

But the Volturi backed out at the last minute, leaving the ten wolves facing down a whole crowd of powerful vamps ready to kill. They desperately wanted to fight (Paul especially) but Sam ordered them to retreat, knowing that it would be suicide. He met with Edward Cullen later, under truce, and told him that he was to take the child and never, ever return to the Olympic Peninsula if he wanted to keep, finger quotes, "living." The Cullens were gone within the week; they were never heard from again.

Jacob, haunted by his one glimpse of Bella as a beautiful, dead(ly) vampire, swore he would never love anyone ever again. So far, he has kept that promise.

Sam and Leah got married just after what the pack now refers to as "the Baby Wars," having been living together for some time previous. Emily was Leah's bridesmaid.

A few years later, Embry started dating Angela, Bella's old friend from high school. She was shy at first, but soon became like part of the pack—what Bella would have called a "wolf girl." Now, she and Embry are getting pretty serious, and although she doesn't know he's planning on proposing, the whole pack does—as Paul often complains, he thinks about it _all the freaking time_.

Quil thinks there might be something wrong with him; he's nearly twenty-five and has never, ever managed to score a single date. He's awkward and freezes up when he talks to girls… well, except Angela, who doesn't count because she's _Embry's_ girl.

Jared never even noticed Kim. He scribbled "HAGS" in her yearbook and never saw her again. Now, he too is frustratedly single. He hangs out with Paul a little too much—his buddy is starting to be a bad influence on him.

Paul is, not surprisingly, the black sheep of the pack. He spends his days getting wasted and picking fights, and spends his nights on emotionless one-night stands.

Sweet Seth, twenty-two now, is currently single—he's an admitted romantic and is waiting for "the one." So far, she hasn't shown up.

Brady and Collin can't decide whether to hero-worship Sam, the Alpha, who's married to the hottest (and scariest) woman ever, or Paul, who brags he can have any woman he wants. So they're taking turns trying the "womanizer" approach vs. the "monogamy" approach. Thus far, all they've found out is that they really suck at both.

The whole pack, in short, is really unhappy—with the possible exceptions of Leah, Sam, and Embry, and even _they_ have their problems.

Something's gotta change…and now, seven years after the Baby Wars, it's about to.

…_this gun's for hire_

_Even if we're just dancing in the dark_.


	2. 1: Sam

**Dancing in the Dark**

**1. Sam**

_Behave yourself_, Sam orders himself. _Not a single stray thought tonight. Leah trusts you. Try to deserve it for once_.

The doorbell rings. His heart leaps. He quells it sternly.

"Baby, can you get it?" Leah's crawling around on their bathroom floor, having just dropped one of her favorite turquoise earrings behind the toilet.

Sam breathes in. Looks in the mirror. Straightens his shirt collar. Briefly hates himself for it.

He goes to open the door.

There she is. Beautiful, as always. Leah's second cousin, Emily Young, is visiting from the Makah rez for the weekend. Again. This time, she brought her niece Claire with her—but Sam has eyes only for Em.

"Emily! Hi." _Oh God_. _Her smile_. "Uh, Claire too. You're getting big." Though he's ostensibly speaking to the ten-year-old, he talks into Emily's sad, dark eyes.

It breaks his heart how lonely she is. All her friends—that is to say, all two of them, since Em never was a social butterfly—moved far away from their rez a couple years ago. One of them married some guy from Virginia, and the other scraped together enough money to pay her way at Central Washington U. But Emily stayed put. She dates a little, but her relationships always seem to end badly. She takes a few distance-learning college courses online and works part time as a waitress. Besides her ma (who is writing a novel and can't waste precious writing time talking to her daughter) and her sister (who's busy raising three kids), she is all alone.

Sam isn't alone in his concern; Leah feels sorry for her too. That's why Emily often comes to La Push on the weekends. Leah is just about the only friend she has left.

"Come on in," Sam says, stepping back. He wrenches his eyes off Emily. "Hey, Claire-bear, I heard you had a birthday."

"Uh-huh," says Claire proudly. "I turned ten." She hitches up her Care Bears backpack.

"Wow, double digits, huh? I think that deserves a double-cool birthday present."

She brightens. "Really?"

"Yeah! We didn't send it to you 'cause your Auntie Emily told us you'd be coming this weekend. We'll let you open it after dinner, if you want."

She nods eagerly, and Sam lifts his eyes to Emily's once more. She is smiling at him. His heart feels like it's being squeezed.

"Emmy!" Leah comes out of the bathroom, fastening the stray earring. "How was your drive?" She hugs her cousin enthusiastically.

Emily hugs back, saying, "It was good. The rain was just sprinkling most of the way."

"And Auntie Emmy let me listen to the Backstreet Boys!" Claire adds.

Emily laughs. "It went fast with this one here to talk to."

Sam looks at these two women he loves, standing side by side laughing, and wonders how he could ever choose. There's Leah—sexy, confident Leah, his high school sweetheart, whom he's guided through the terror and pain of becoming a monster, the two of them keeping each other sane when things got tough. But he knows she has a downfall: being a female wolf, she's by definition a bitch. And she has no problem acting the part.

Then there's Emily. Lovely, sweet, sad Emily. Shyly beautiful, soft-spoken and gentle. She hates confrontation and makes herself scarce when Sam and Leah are arguing. He knows she'd be overwhelmed by the pack. And yet he can't deny that he wants her, more desperately than words can say. It wasn't always there—but the more he was around her, the more it grew, despite his efforts to deny it. It went from an instinct to protect her to a craving to be near her to a lust for her body—and then, when he angrily subdued _that_, it became a tender affection for her. This would have been all right if it was a _brotherly_ affection, but it isn't, and Sam knows it.

He refuses to call it love. He loves Leah, his wife—tells her so every night before they go to bed. He can't imagine a life without Leah.

But sometimes, when he's kissing her, he closes his eyes and sees Emily imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.

***

Over dinner, Leah says, "Hey Em, I had an idea."

"What?" Emily is cutting her spaghetti with the edge of a fork; next to her, Claire is twirling the noodles around and around her own fork, trying to find the ends.

"Well, you know how you always say none of the Makah boys are your type?" Leah grins slyly at Sam. "I thought maybe I could set you up on a blind date with one of ours. Say, Jacob, for instance."

Sam chokes. Claire drops her fork in order to enthusiastically pound him on the back.

"Yeah, yeah, you laugh," Leah says, tossing her head. She doesn't have much hair to flick around anymore, but she still manages to convey disdain in shaking her bangs away from her eyes. "Seriously, Sam, think about it. Jake's been Mr. Angsty McEmo-Pants for, what, the past six or seven years? I think it's time we _forced_ him to date. And I'm sure he'll love Emily."

"Um, Leah," Emily interrupts, "I don't really do blind dates. Not since—"

"Yeah, I know, not since that loser who tried—" Leah glances at Claire—"uh, never mind. But I know Jake. He's not like that. If anything, he's more cautious than you. The last girl he kissed ended up marrying his worst enemy."

"Ouch." Emily winces, and Sam can see she's already feeling sorry for him. Great. Aren't women supposed to like the brooding kind of guy who's in need of a woman's love? Jealousy tightens his throat, and he takes a gulp of water before he can start coughing again.

Then he forces himself to think rationally. If Emily gets a boyfriend, she'll spend more time with _him_, and less time around Sam. Maybe if he doesn't see her that often, those guilty feelings will go away, and he can focus all his love on his wife.

Sam clears his throat. "Actually, I think that's a good idea. Jake _is_ a good kid, Em. If anyone can get him to come out of his shell, it's you."

"And trust me, if you can get him to crack a smile for once, you'll be doing us all a favor," Leah adds.

So it's decided: Sam is to call up Jake and "ask" him if he wants to go on a blind date with Emily. (Since Jacob is almost certainly going to say no, Leah privately instructs Sam to use his Alpha power to force him into it.) Emily isn't incredibly enthusiastic about it, but Sam can detect an air of wistful hope in her voice when she talks about it. She doesn't expect anything, but she would _like_ Jacob to turn out to be Mr. Right.

Sam twists his napkin into a tiny frayed ball in his lap. Why does his traitorous heart keep telling him that Emily's looking in exactly the wrong place—that Mr. Right is sitting across the table from her, in her cousin's husband's chair?


	3. 2: Jacob

**Dancing in the Dark**

**2. Jacob**

"Sam, I hate you," Jacob growls under his breath, knuckles white on his Rabbit's steering wheel.

He's pretty sure that using Alpha powers to force someone into a blind date against his will counts as abuse of authority. But try telling that to Sam. He can be pretty damn scary when he wants to. And Leah's even scarier. Aside from the whole high-school-sweetheart crap, Leah was a pretty political choice for the Alpha's mate. She backs up his commands with teeth, claws, and looks that Collin swears can _actually kill_. And in this matter, she's immovable. Jacob is going to take her cousin out on a date, Or Else.

It's not that Emily is repulsive. She's not. She's gorgeous, actually. But her quiet, gentle personality reminds him painfully of another shy, awkward girl he once knew.

It isn't Emily's fault. _Every_ girl reminds him of Bella in some way. And remembering the Bella he loved reminds him of the Bella he hates: the pale, beautiful dead girl, her lips pulled back in a snarl as she protects the life of the evil demon-child that took hers away.

He runs his hand over his face and hits the turn signal, pulling into Sam and Leah's driveway. Like a man condemned to death, he gets out and trudges to the front door.

It opens. "Jake!" Leah says. "She's almost ready. Just a sec." She yanks him into the hallway and then leaves him there, hands in his pockets, wishing he could be _anywhere_ else.

Emily comes out of the guest room, and she does look nice. She's wearing a conservative denim skirt and a low-cut shirt that looks like she borrowed it from Leah. Her hand goes nervously to cover the cleavage the shirt displays, but Leah yanks it away. "I want her back by midnight, now, Jake," she says sweetly.

He glares at her—usually, he'd cuss her out and maybe start a halfhearted fight, but he feels awkward with Emily there. She doesn't know that they're werewolves; treating Leah like a pack member might look weird to an outsider.

"C'mon," he mutters at Emily, and she follows him out. Conscious of Leah's evil eye on his back, he opens the passenger side door for her before getting in himself. Fine. He can act like he cares about this date, if it gets the Queen Bitch off his back.

Absently, he wonders why Sam isn't there to enforce his wife's commands. Maybe he figured Leah could enforce her own commands. Which was certainly true.

"So, um." Emily's hands are clasped tightly in her lap; her knees are pressed together and she is very obviously shy and nervous. "Where are we going?"

"This place in Port Angeles," says Jacob vaguely. Leah called in the reservations, knowing he wouldn't bother.

There are a few minutes of silence. Emily makes another stab at conversation. "So, um, Leah said you like working with cars?"

"Uh-huh." He knows he sounds purposely rude; Emily doesn't deserve that, so he adds, "I have a mechanic shop over in Forks now. My buddy Embry runs the business stuff, and I do the manual labor."

"By yourself?"

"Sometimes the guys help, when they're short on cash."

"That's cool." She twists her fingers in her lap. "I don't know a lot about cars," she confesses.

He glances at her. "You don't have to."

"What?"

"Well, if you were ever broken down on the side of the road, you'd only have to stand there looking unhappy and you'd have, like, three guys fighting over who gets to help."

"Why? …_Oh_." She blushes. "Was that…a compliment?"

"I guess so, yeah." He smiles at her. It feels weird, but it makes him feel a little better.

He doesn't think he can bring himself to love Emily, but it's possible he could_ like_ her. As a friend.

The conversation dwindles and dies, and Jacob turns on the radio to fill the silence. "You can change it to whatever station you like," he tells Emily. These days, he only listens to the screaming kind of rock music, the kind full of hate and pain, and he doesn't think Emily would be much of a fan.

She fiddles with the dial and stops on a station playing some sappy boy band ballad. "You probably hate this, don't you," she says.

He smiles a little. "Yeah, but don't change it. I can stand it for awhile."

***

The restaurant isn't too fancy, for which Jacob silently thanks Leah. She probably knew he'd turn up in jeans and an old t-shirt. It's a seafood place. Emily tells him that she loves seafood; he lets her think he was the one behind the choice of restaurant.

Over dinner, they talk a little, about trivial stuff. He asks about her family. She asks how he's been doing since his father passed away a year ago. They discuss his friends, then she tells him about her friends (the ones off having a life while she wishes for one). The food is good. Jake decides that maybe this date isn't so bad after all.

As the sun is setting, they leave the restaurant and, at Emily's request, walk to the beach. They do not hold hands. Emily squints into the bright horizon and sighs. "Sunset is my favorite time of the day," she says.

Jacob wonders if he used to have a favorite time of day. All of it seems equally _blah_ to him. Some days are better than others…the days when stray vampires come calling, for instance. The fierce joy of the hunt is the closest he gets to happiness these days.

As if thinking of the devil has conjured it, the sickly odor of vampire hits his nostrils. He freezes and inhales again. There's something different about this scent. It's mixed up with a distinctly human smell—not the rust of human blood, but a sweet, strangely compelling personal scent that can hardly be separated from the nose-stinging smell of vampire.

He turns this way and that, trying to spot this strange not-quite-vampire. There are only a few people on the beach; he quickly rules out the couple walking arm in arm and the kid chasing a dog.

Then he sees her. A lone figure standing just at the waterline, her profile to him. He begins to approach her without even meaning to. She is staring into the sunset, a small smile on her lips. Her shoes are dangling from her fingers, her jeans neatly rolled up to the knee. She has red-blonde hair that tumbles to mid-back in impossibly perfect loose curls.

She has to be the prettiest girl he's ever seen in his entire life. Not surprising, seeing as she's a vampire.

She turns to him when he's only a few strides away, and he stops. "Hi," she says. She has a lovely voice. He _hates_ it.

"Who are you?" he growls.

"Who are _you?_" she counters.

"I asked first."

She laughs musically. "Oh, I see. We're revisiting kindergarten. Very well. My name is Rennie. And yours is…?"

"Jacob." He flares his nostrils against the scent that's equal parts attractive and repulsive. "What _are _you?"

"A girl," she says.

He nearly throttles her then and there, but holds himself back; twisting her head off in front of Emily is probably not a good idea. "Don't get cute," he snarls. "You smell like a vampire, but there's human on you too."

"You must not be human either, with that nose," she says, coming closer. She inhales. "You smell…hmm…like an animal. Are you a shapeshifter?"

Jacob can't think of a good comeback, so he simply allows the silence to confirm it.

"Hey," she says, her voice lifting with delight, "_I_ know who you are! Jacob, right? Mother had a shapeshifter friend by that name, before I was born. You must be the same one! Fancy meeting you here—it's a small world, isn't it?"

"Mother?" Jacob repeats. His stomach drops out. _No. It can't be. That was only seven years ago_. But then again, the child had been born hardly a month after its conception…perhaps it matured just as fast _after_ birth…. "Oh God," he whispers, taking two steps back.

The child's name had been Ren-something, hadn't it? Renesmee? "Rennie" could easily be short for….

"You're it," he spits out. "The demon child."

"I prefer 'half-vampire,' if you don't mind." Rennie is looking at him with calm amusement, her eyes sparkling. They're Bella's eyes.

He steps away again, his lip curling. "You can't be here," he growls. "Get out. Now. Or we'll kill you."

"That's not very nice." She meets his eyes without fear.

"Your kind isn't welcome here," he says, his voice rising. "Ever again."

"Jacob!"

Emily has caught up with him. "What is wrong with you?" she mutters, grabbing his arm. "Do you have some kind of problem with white girls?"

Jacob turns his head to look back at Rennie Cullen one last time. She is still staring at him, her posture straight, her form slim and flawless. She raises a hand to wave at him, her lips quirking again into that small, amused smile. He recognizes it now. It's Edward Cullen's smile.

Jerking his arm out of Emily's grasp, he digs his cell phone out of his pocket and dials Sam's number.

The Alpha answers on the third ring. "Sam here."

"You better get your ass up to P.A. ASAP," Jacob says shortly. "The Cullens are back. I just met Cullen Junior."

Silence; a whispered cuss word. Then: "Let me call the pack. We'll be there within the hour." He pauses. "Oh, and take Emily somewhere safe, a movie or something."

"She thinks I'm psycho." He glances up; she's standing a few yards away, her arms crossed.

Sam sighs. "Maybe it's better that way. Now get going." He hangs up.

Jacob flips the phone shut. He knows he should be worried about their safety, like Sam is. But right now, all he feels is the electric anticipation of the hunt beginning to course through his blood.

It's about time he got revenge.


	4. 3: Quil

**Dancing in the Dark**

**3. Quil**

The house that once belonged to Billy Black is quiet, except for the TV.

This isn't normal. When Jacob's here, Quil and Embry make a lot of noise on purpose, just to remind Jacob that someone else is in the house. The two of them moved in after Jacob's dad died to keep an eye on their buddy—the entire pack was a little worried that the guy might try something drastic. But Jacob never does anything dramatic. He just broods quietly.

When he's gone, Embry and Quil, tired of purposely shouting, dropping stuff, and slamming the door, always lapse into companionable silence. Three boxes of Cheez-Its and the frantic dialogue of some cop show is enough to keep them entertained.

Until the phone rings.

Embry heaves himself off the couch to answer it. "Yo." Pause. "Oh, hey, Sam. What's up?" Another pause. "Holy crap. We'll be there in like five seconds. Wait for us!"

He slams the phone down. "C'mon, dude. Code V in Port Angeles. Jake ran into the Cullens on his date with Emily."

Quil snorts. Embry thinks it sounds badass to refer to vampires as a "Code V situation." He's even got half the pack to adopt it. Quil tried to convince Angela to tell him it was dorky, but Angie just laughed and said she thought it was cute.

Leaving his shirt on the couch and shucking his pants on the way out the door, Quil follows Embry out into the night. It's lucky they don't have neighbors all that close by. He ties his pants to his leg with the practiced ease of nearly eight years and shudders into wolf form.

The run to Sam's is all too short, but Quil enjoys it. It's been too long since he went for a run in his fur coat just for the fun of it. Even after they arrive in Sam and Leah's backyard, he stays in wolf form, anticipating the run to P.A.

But Sam has other ideas.

_I hate to ask, Quil, but can you do me a favor? Emily's niece is here and we don't want to leave her alone_….

Quil whines, but he can't refuse the Alpha. He reaches for his human self and constricts the wolf back into his man-skin.

Since Sam can't hear his complaints now, he thinks grouchily, _Really, Sam? This is the most excitement we've had in months, and I gotta stay here to babysit? Why can't Seth do it? He _likes_ kids._

He pulls his pants back on, and wishes he'd brought his shirt along too. _Oh well. I can steal one of Sam's. Least the guy can do is lend me a shirt_. Pushing the door open, he cautiously steps into Sam and Leah's house, a pang of longing twisting in his stomach as the howls of his pack begin to fade away.

"Hello?" he calls into the quiet hall.

"Hello," replies a girl's voice.

He follows it into the living room. She's sitting cross-legged on the couch, reading some book with a horse on the cover. Long hair in two neat braids, chipped purple glitter on her fingernails, a cutesy pink t-shirt with a smiley-face flower on it. The girl looks up and smiles at him, displaying a gap between her front teeth. Quil forces a smile in return. He has no idea what to do with her—he's no good with kids. _Why couldn't Sam call Angela to babysit? Hey, there's an idea._

"So, um." He shifts his feet and shrugs. "What's your name?"

"I'm Claire," the girl says. "Are you one of Sam and Leah's friends?"

"Yeah. I'm, uh, Quil."

She giggles. "Like the type of pen?"

"No. Quil with just one L."

"Oh. Cool." She dog-ears her page and closes the book. "Wanna play Barbies?"

_Oh HELL no_. "Uh…."

"C'mon." She stands up and marches into the guest room. He has no choice but to follow.

She digs in a baby-blue backpack with Care Bears all over it and pulls out two Barbie dolls with ratty-looking hair and a Ken doll whose hair is, luckily for him, painted onto his head. Sitting him down on the bed, she thrusts the Ken doll into his hand. "Okay now. Your name is John, and this one's name is Ally, and this one is Tiffany." Ally is a white-skinned blonde, and Tiffany is an African-American. Quil wonders if they ever make Indian Barbies.

"Tiffany's shirt is falling off," he points out. Claire gives him a no-nonsense glare and fixes it.

"Okay, now Tiffany and Ally are going to the mall," Claire says, and Quil thinks, _Oh God, someone please shoot me_.

"Suddenly, they run into John!"

At her insistence, he maneuvers the Ken doll to face the two Barbies. "Hey, ladies," he says, deepening his voice. "Lookin' good."

Claire laughs. "Hi, John," she says, making her own voice higher. "What are you shopping for?"

"A crowbar," Quil answers for John.

She giggles again. "A _crowbar_? What for?"

Quil decides to have some fun with this. "So I can kill somebody with it," he says.

"Eek!" says Claire through Ally. "Why are you killing him?"

"He ate all my pizza."

"That's _all?_"

"Well, he also took all my money and…buried it…in a golf course. Yeah, and they won't let me dig it up 'cause it messes up their lawn."

"Why did he bury all your money?"

"Because I…stole his girlfriend."

"Oooooh." Ally and Tiffany nod stiffly, helped by Claire. "Well, we'll help you get your money back from the golf course. And then we can go do something bad to the guy."

"Not kill him?" John asks.

"No, silly. Killing is not the answer. Instead we'll…feed his dog Ex-Lax!"

"Geez," says John, "that _is_ harsh."

The game of Barbies continues for some time, getting progressively sillier. The imaginary guy has all sorts of atrocities inflicted on him, including his house being TP'd, nails hammered into his car tires, and his hand being put in warm water while he's sleeping. Soon, both Quil and Claire are laughing so hard they fall over.

"I had no idea playing Barbies was so fun," Quil says to the ceiling, hands behind his head. "I thought it was all dressing them up and playing wedding and stuff."

Claire, absentmindedly brushing Ally's hair, says, "That's only the boring girls. It's funner when you make up stories about them."

"Yeah…." Quil wonders what the pack is doing right now. Probably kicking some vamp butt. Part of him still wants to be there, but another part of him is content to be here, relaxing on the cool, soft quilt, his stomach hurting a little from laughing too hard at fifth-grade humor.

"Quil," says Claire suddenly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him, "do you have a girlfriend?"

Quil sighs. "No." The truth is, he really, really sucks at talking to women. Paul's been trying to convince everyone that he's gay for years, but it's not that. He sees enough naked men on a regular basis to know he's not attracted to them. He just gets all tongue-tied in the presence of pretty girls, and sometimes he actually blushes, which is so embarrassing that it makes him blush _more_. That's usually when he stammers a lame apology and leaves as fast as possible.

For some reason, this fear of talking to girls does not extend to _taken_ ones. He gets along pretty well with Angela, and can arm-wrestle with Leah (and let her win) without a bit of self-consciousness. But when Angela brought her nice friend from college to visit for a weekend, Quil muttered, "Hi," skulked off into a corner, and watched Paul hit on her for the rest of the evening.

He glances at Claire and realizes with some surprise that _she's_ a girl. He has no problem talking to her. Maybe kids are also an exception.

"Why not?" Claire asks indignantly.

"I don't think girls like me very much," Quil says. He wonders if he's just inadvertently explained his own nervousness around girls: fear of rejection. It'd make sense. Angie and Leah can't reject him, and Claire has no reason to.

Claire says, "_I_ like you," like that should be enough reason for every girl to adore him. "You know what? I'll help you find a girlfriend, Quil."

"Uh, really that's okay. I…"

"Auntie Emmy needs a boyfriend, so maybe you guys can go out."

"…don't really need…"

"Do you want to be an old maid?" Claire asks solemnly.

Quil laughs. "What?"

"That's what Gramma always says when she's trying to convince Auntie Emmy to get married," Claire explains, adding, "I don't really know what an old maid is. Mommy told me it's a card game, where the old maid card ends up all by itself."

"I don't need a girlfriend," Quil says again.

_But I don't want to be the card that ends up on its own, either_….

***

When Sam comes home later, he finds Quil still staring pensively at the ceiling and Claire sound asleep on Emily's pillow, the three plastic dolls strewn between them. He laughs softly and beckons Quil out of the room.

"She's been trying to get us to play Barbies all weekend," he whispers. "I should have warned you. She's a bossy little kid."

Quil smiles lazily. "Actually, playing Barbies is kinda fun, dude. You should try it sometime."

Then he heads home. Jake's probably back, broodier than ever after meeting his old enemies; someone's gotta get the guy drunk, and he isn't sure he can count on Embry to do the job properly.


	5. 4: Jared

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Jared**

"Whoa," Paul mutters under his breath as he pulls on his sweatpants, "Baby Vamp is _hot_. Didja _see_ her in Jake's mind? _Day-um_." He licks his lips lasciviously.

Jared gives him a Look. "Uh, Paul, she's a _vampire_."

"Only half," says Paul, like that makes it okay.

Sam looms up behind Paul and smacks him upside the head. "Could you please think with your brain and not your dick? For once? Renesmee Cullen might be dangerous. I need you all to be on your guard."

"All right, your Alpha-ness," Paul grouses. He nudges Jared. "Somebody's takin' this a little too seriously… think it has to do with a certain cousin being in danger?"

"Shuddup, stupid." Sam might have moved out of earshot, but Leah's not that far away. The last time Paul suggested Sam might have the hots for Emily, Leah beat the crap out of him. It took him three days to heal all the way.

Once everyone's (sort of) dressed, the pack moves out of the trees and, following Sam and Leah, begins to run in human form down the side of the road. They get a weird look from a passing driver, but not as weird as they'd get if they'd been in wolf form. As they move into the town, Jake jogs up to meet them.

"I found out where she's staying," he says shortly. "We can surround her and force her to come out to talk to us."

"No need." Their heads snap around in unison to see her step into the orangey light from the street lamp. "You followed me, so I followed you. Fair is fair."

She smiles at them, her eyes big and guileless. The pack tenses. The innocent-looking ones are always the scariest.

Renesmee stares at them for a few moments before bursting out laughing. "You guys are so _funny_," she giggles. "You outnumber me ten to one, and yet you're scared of me? What did the Volturi tell you about me, anyway?"

No one speaks.

Finally, Sam steps up. "What are you doing here? Your family was forbidden to ever bring you back to the Olympic Peninsula."

"And they kept their side of the bargain," she says. "Theydidn't bring me. I came by myself."

"You're alone?"

She raises empty hands. "As you see. In fact, Mother and Dad don't even know I'm here. I didn't tell them I was coming."

"What _did_ you tell them?"

"Oh, I've been away from them for ages," she says airily. "For my seventh birthday, they gave me a passport. I've been traveling abroad for the past six months—this is my last stop before I go back to live with them again. I wanted to check out my birthplace, see all the places Dad took Mother before they were married."

"Well, you've seen it," Jacob says. "Now leave."

"I just got here yesterday!" she protests. "I still have to see Forks…I want to visit Grandfather and see Dad's old house."

"It's burned down," Leah says. "The old Cullen mansion. Arson."

Paul takes a lighter out of his sweatpants pocket and starts playing with the flame in a very obvious way. Jared grabs it out of his hand. "Don't provoke her," he hisses. _We still don't know what she can do!_

Renesmee's face falls briefly. "Oh," she says, her voice soft. "I didn't realize…you…Mother said you were her _friends_." She looks at Jacob, then at Sam, composing herself again. "I see," she murmurs. "That is why you hate me so much. You hated _them_. I assure you, there is no reason for you to consider me a threat. I've never harmed anyone in my life. I eat human food and only hunt animals occasionally."

"You have too harmed someone," Jacob snarls. "You killed _her_."

She studies him. "If you mean my mother, she is very much alive, and will remain so for a long time to come."

"But she's a leech!"

"She is a person," the girl says, lifting her chin stubbornly. "She is no longer human, that's true, but she is alive, well, and happy." She returns her attention to Sam. "All I ask," she says, "is that you allow me a week's stay in Forks and the surrounding area. I will not hunt or do harm to anyone while I am here. When the week is up, I will leave and never return without your express permission. Do we have a deal?"

Sam considers. Jared can't see his face, but he's pretty sure it's the glowery, intimidating Alpha Face; surprisingly, Renesmee is unaffected.

"All right," he says finally. "One week."

She smiles excitedly. "Oh, thank you! I would have hated to fight you. I'm sure you're all very nice people when you're not threatening girls on darkened streets." While the diss is still sinking in, she pats Jacob's cheek and says, "I hope to see you again, Jacob Black."

Then she vanishes into the shadows, just as Jacob grabs his head and shouts, "Argh! What the HELL?!"

***

"So," Jared says the next morning, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Last night in review: Bella's kid is hot but talks like a girl version of her dad; she's going to be in Forks for a week and we're not allowed to kill her; and Sam's _definitely_ diggin' on Emily."

The Alpha had personally driven Emily home in Jacob's car the previous night; Jacob was too freaked out because "Rennie" had apparently, quote, "made me see things in my head." When asked what she made him see, he refused to say, and purposely thought about car parts all the way back to La Push.

Paul yawns, unimpressed. "This morning in review: Jared hurries up makin' those omelettes."

"I'd like to see _you_ make an omelette, Rivers."

"No you wouldn't," says Paul, which is true, because last time he tried to cook, the microwave blew up. Literally.

The two of them have been living together ever since their respective parents threw them out of their respective houses a few years ago. They scraped together enough money from various sucky jobs to buy an old shack off Jared's granddad, who'd been using it as a garage-slash-workshop; Granddad Whitehorse calls it a "fixer-upper," but other than slapping up a couple of plywood walls, hauling in two cots, and installing plumbing and appliances, the boys haven't really done much fixing-up. Plus, unless one of them anticipates bringing a girl home, they never clean house. The place is a complete dump, but neither of them are too worried about it; as Paul's sister said when she visited once, they "must enjoy living in squalor." (Ginny Rivers wasn't trying to compliment them, but they were flattered—mostly because neither of them knew what "squalor" meant.)

Jared tips the first two-egg omelette onto a plate, adds cheese and Tabasco, and hands it to Paul before starting the next one. "Whatcha gonna do today?" he asks.

Paul yawns. "I asked Jake if I could work at the Wolf today." The Wolf Mechanic Shop is Jacob and Embry's joint enterprise in Forks, and a good source of income for the La Push boys, most of whom do not have regular jobs. "Then tonight I think I'll hit the bar again. How 'bout you?"

"You're gonna kill yourself with all that drinking," Jared mutters, flipping his own omelette onto a plate. "I'll come with you."

"Hypocrite," Paul laughs, before chugging half the orange juice straight out of the carton.

"Hey, I thought Ginny was coming home today," Jared says. "Shouldn't you go see her?"

"Nah, she's gonna be busy. She's got friends with her. Jake's sister, whatsername…Rachel. And some chick called Kim."

"Cool," Jared mumbles through a mouthful of Tabasco-y egg and cheese. "But last time you didn't go to see her, she came here. 'Member? And she actually gagged because it supposedly stunk so much?"

"Oh yeah." Paul smirks. "Well, if she wants to see me that bad, she can brave the stench."

"I doubt anyone wants to see you _that_ bad."

Paul chucks the now-empty plate at his head. "Shuddup."

Jared catches it like a Frisbee and drops it into the sink that's already full of week-old dishes. "Your turn to wash up," he says.

Paul looks at the pile of moldy dishes with distaste. "I'll just put it off 'til it's your turn again."

***

"Brother dearest," Ginny Rivers sings out, just outside the Wolf's garage. "You're avoiding me again, aren't you?"

Paul groans and tries to hide behind a spare tire. Jared grabs him and pulls him up. "Just get it over with," he hisses.

Then Ginny steps into the garage, her two friends behind her, and both Paul and Jared stop to stare.

Ginny isn't bad looking—she's got a sort of nerdy-cute thing going on, with black hair bobbed short and these funky cat-eye glasses. Jared knows her too well to be attracted, though. But _dang_, her two friends are pretty knockout.

Rachel Black's the more obviously pretty of the two; she's petite and thin, with sarcastic eyebrows and an assured stance that speaks of feminism and self-confidence. But Jared's more drawn to the other one, the taller girl in the pink shirt. She's curvier than her friend, has a wider nose and puffy lips; not traditionally beautiful. Her dark hair is drawn back into a high, severe ponytail. Something about her, though… she looks strangely familiar….

"Paul!" Ginny descends on her brother. "Ew, you're all covered in grease. So, you thought you would avoid me again? I'm hurt." She fake-pouts. "Don't you love me?"

Paul looks like he's in pain. He and his cheerful, bubbly, popular sister have never really gotten along.

Rachel spots her own brother and goes over to hug him, regardless of the dirt and grease he's covered in; and Jared is left staring at the girl in the pink shirt, trying to figure out where he's seen her before. She looks Quileute…maybe one of his parents' friends' kids?

"Jared?" says the girl. "Jared Whitehorse?"

"Uh…yeah."

"It's Kim," the girl says, as if it should be obvious. "Kim Connweller—remember?"

And suddenly, amazingly, he does. He graduated with Kim—she was in most of his classes at school. No wonder she looks familiar. "Kim!" he says, smiling. "I thought you looked familiar. How's life?"

She shrugs. "Right now it sorta sucks…I want to be a painter, but it doesn't pay the bills, so I have a crappy job at this diner place. What about you?"

He displays his hands, black with grease. "Same. Crappy job. Except I didn't do the college thing to get here. You're probably way smarter than me now."

She laughs. "Nah, maybe _you're_ smarter than _me_. I could've done without the college and been doing exactly the same thing."

Jared realizes, _I_ like _this girl_. He feels an instant connection with her, something he's never had with any of the bimbos he picked up in bars (following Paul's example). He's trying to decide the best way to ask her out without it seeming weird, when she goes on to say, "It's like Derek was saying the other day—Derek is my boyfriend—anyway, he said…."

_Boyfriend._

_Damn._

_It just figures she'd have a boyfriend_.

"C'mon, Kim, we're gonna go shopping," Ginny calls.

She backs away, her lips curving in a smile that Jared suddenly and irrationally wants to kiss, over and over and over…. "It was nice to see you again, Jared."

"Wait—Kim—" she pauses, and he practically chokes on his own spit before managing to say, "How long are you staying in La Push?"

"'Til next Sunday," she says. "Maybe I'll see you later? Bye!"

Jared goes back to work, unsure whether Kim's visit has brightened his day or darkened it. Either way, it's given him something to think about… and, annoyingly, he can't _stop_ thinking about her, not until he and Paul get stupid-drunk that night.

(Actually, not even then.)


	6. 5: Paul

**Dancing in the Dark**

**5. Paul**

It starts as a stupid bet in a bar.

"Bet you can't get that one to kiss you," Jared says, pointing at some skeezy ho.

Paul looks. "She's with that other guy."

"Which makes it a challenge, right?"

So Paul goes over there, lies his face off with suave charm, and manages to kiss the girl while her guy has his back turned.

It becomes their favorite drunk game: see how many girls can pick up before one rejects him. So far, Paul is five for five, and gaining hubris quickly.

"Betcha I can get any girl on the rez to sleep with me," he boasts tonight, feeling high on life (and possibly something less legal).

Jared looks skeptical. "_Any?_"

"Name one."

"Okay…your sister's friend Kim."

"Done," Paul says promptly.

"No, no, wait," Jared says, looking panicked. "She was just the first person I thought of. I didn't mean you should really—"

"Why, you got dibs?"

"Some guy named Derek does," says Jared miserably. "That's not the point. How about the other one instead? Jacob's sister Rachel. She's pretty hot, yeah?"

Paul thinks about it. He was more preoccupied with his own sister when the girls paid their visit, but now that Jared's mentioned it, Rachel Black was pretty bodacious.

"Okay, you're on," he says. "Name the stakes."

"If I win…you have to clean the whole house. That includes washing the dishes, and taking out the trash, _and_—"

Paul winces. "All right, all right, I got the idea. Now if I win, _you_…have to tell Leah you think she's got a hot booty."

"Ouch," Jared says, cringing. Paul smirks. Everyone knows that thinking nasty thoughts about the Queen Bitch gets you two extremely painful beatings—one from Leah herself, and one from Sam.

"And you have to go, 'Bow chicka wow wow!' at her when Sam is standing right there."

Jared says, "I hope Rachel Black _really_ hates you."

Paul laughs. "Deadline?"

"Saturday."

"Saturday it is." He grins. "I hope you enjoy getting the crap beat out of you."

"I hope you enjoy Lysol-ing the bathroom."

They shake hands, and the bet is sealed.

***

Early the next morning, Paul goes running on Second Beach.

He's actually not thinking about the bet when he gets out of bed, knocks back a cup of coffee, and thanks the higher powers that werewolves don't get that bad of hangovers; so it's a bit of a shock when, halfway down the beach, he meets Rachel Black.

She's perching on a driftwood log, bent over a little spiral-bound notebook with her pen scribbling madly. Once in awhile she looks up, staring out at the lightening sky over the ocean. Paul stops to watch her from a distance. She really is extremely pretty. Her long, straight black hair is braided loosely over her shoulder, strands escaping to whip across her face. She's wearing loose basketball shorts and a shapeless gray sweatshirt with some kind of dog on it—far from her sexiest outfit—yet somehow she manages to be more attractive than most other girls he's seen in the mornings.

He decides to approach her. "Hey," he says.

She shuts the notebook. "Hey. You're one of Jake's friends, right?"

"Yeah." He sits down next to her. "How come you're up so early?"

"Same to you," Rachel says. "I hear from Jake you're quite the partier."

He shrugs. The truth (that he likes the quiet timelessness of the beach at sunrise) is too stupid to tell her. "Just felt like a run, I guess. What's that on your shirt?"

She looks down. "Oh—a husky. The U-Dub mascot. I graduated from there a few years ago."

"Yeah, I know. So did Ginny."

"Oh, I know who you are now," she says, smiling. "You're Ginny's little brother, Paul." She laughs. "You know, my last memory of you is when you were about thirteen and we had a sleepover at your parents' place…."

"And I snuck in while you were sleeping and put shaving cream on your hands," Paul finishes.

"We wanted to _kill_ you when we woke up with shaving cream all over."

"But I hid out 'til you left." He grins.

"You're, what, twenty-three now?"

"Almost twenty-four," Paul says. He doesn't want to ask her age (girls seem to hate it when guys do that) so he adds up the years in his head; Ginny's three years older than him, and Rachel's about the same, which makes Rachel around twenty-seven.

Well, he's done the older-woman thing before. Not too much of a problem.

"What were you writin'?" he asks, gesturing at her notebook.

She shrugs. "Poetry."

Paul is impressed. He'd never have the balls to admit it like that.

"I used to come out here when I was in high school," Rachel adds, "every morning, insanely early, and I'd just sit here and write what I was anxious about, how I wanted the day to go…I found those notebooks in Dad's attic last night and it made me nostalgic."

Pause. "That's cool." He realizes he doesn't know what to say to her. Usually, talking to girls, the words just _flow_…but then again, he's often drunk at the time, and none of the girls have _known_ him.

Also, none of them have really been quite this pretty.

This is an alarming discovery. Suddenly, he begins to regret that bet with Jared.

"You wanna hang out sometime?" he blurts. "I mean…together. Like…a movie in Port Angeles tonight?" Inwardly, he cringes at his stupid, stammering voice. He hasn't sounded like this much of an idiot since his first attempt to ask a girl out. And that was nearly a decade ago.

Rachel giggles. "Paul…are you asking me out?"

He salvages enough suave to say, "Yeah. You interested?"

"Oh, Paul," Rachel says, sighing sadly. "I'm not dating right now, okay? I just got out of a bad relationship and…I want to cool off for awhile before I…anyway, you're my little brother's friend. It would be weird."

"I'm your friend's little brother, too," says Paul through a giant mushroom cloud of rejection. "Don't forget that. _Double_ weird."

She laughs. "I'm glad you understand. Really, I _am_ sorry, but dating is…not an option for me right now."

"It's cool." Paul gets up, fakes a grin. "Enjoy your…poetry."

"Enjoy your run," Rachel replies. "See you around?"

He nods.

_Enjoy my run. Right. More like enjoy washing dishes forever. Jared's _never_ gonna let me live this down_.


	7. 6: Jacob

**Dancing in the Dark**

**6. Jacob**

_Do not look up. Do not look up. Do not_…

"Hey, Jacob Black."

…_damn_.

Late Sunday afternoon at the Wolf; Jake's working by himself, listening to a game on the radio. It's nice and quiet—something almost resembling peaceful. And then _she_ drops in.

"Is there something you want, leech?" Jacob demands, hating the way his heart leaps the second he smells her distinctive scent, and the way his hands still on the car's engine when her lovely heart-shaped face and long strawberry-blonde hair appear around the hood.

He forces his attention back to the job at hand and keeps his eyes firmly on his grease-blackened hands.

"Not really," Rennie says, trailing her hand along the edge of the hood. "I just wanted to see where you worked. Grandfather told me about this place. He thinks highly of you, you know."

"Chief Swan's an all right guy," Jacob mutters gruffly.

"Oh, yes." He can tell she's smiling from the way her voice lifts. "I love him already. Tell me, how long have he and Sue Clearwater seeing each other? He talks about her a lot, and very affectionately."

"Yeah, they've been seeing each other ever since the Baby W—I mean, since _she_ left."

"By _she_ you mean Mother, I suppose," Rennie says. "It's good that he has a woman in his life. From what Mother says about him, I think he must get very lonely sometimes." She leans casually against the driver's-side door. "I would like very much to meet her," she says thoughtfully. "All I've seen is the picture on his desk. She looks like a lovely woman."

"Oh, Sue Clearwater's great," Jacob says, "but she won't want to see you. She blames you leeches for triggering her kids' first phase, which triggered her husband's heart attack…and she knows what Edward did to B—to _her_."

"Oh, Jacob Black," says Rennie sorrowfully—he looks up, and his insides lurch all over again—"you need to stop hating so much. Mother is happy. So should you be."

"Why did you show her to me?" Jake says, throwing down his tools and standing to face her. "You must know—" his voice chokes off. "Are you here to torture me?" he asks finally. "I've spent seven _years_ trying to forget her face, and to see her like that—oh, God."

"I did not intend to hurt you," Rennie says, "believe me, Jacob. I only wanted to show you that she is happy—that there is no need for you to mourn her."

Jacob closes his eyes, sinks into a metal folding chair, and puts his face in his hands.

Rennie, uncertain, comes over and reaches out, but he lifts his face and snarls, "_Don't touch me!_" He looks half-wild, his face streaked with grease and tears, and Rennie backs off.

"The visions only come when I want them to," she tells him softly. "I will not show you anything else if it bothers you."

He doesn't answer.

"Mother really loved you, you know," Rennie says, her voice solemn. "I think it hurt her just as much as it hurt you, when she left. But you and Dad forced her to make a choice…and what she chose has made her happy. You must believe that."

The radio announcer screams excitedly into the heavy silence.

"I'll go now," she whispers.

He mutters, "Thank you." It's muffled by his hands, but he's pretty sure she hears it anyway.

He doesn't look up until he knows she's gone.

***

"I want her out. I don't care what you agreed, Sam, get her the hell out of Forks."

Sam sighs. "It's not that easy, Jacob. What am I going to do, bodily force her onto the next ferry across the Puget Sound?"

"_Okay_," Jacob says.

"Jake, I—" Sam groans in exasperation. "Leah!" he yells. "Black's being difficult!"

Leah sticks her head out of the kitchen. "Contrary to what you might think, the entire world does not revolve around your personal problems, Black," she snaps. "Live with it. It's only a week, and then you'll never see her again."

Emily comes out too, wiping her hands on a towel. "I don't think the problem is that he can't stand her presence," she says, giving Jacob a shrewd look. "I think it's that he _likes_ her being here and thinks he shouldn't."

Jake splutters an indignant denial, but can feel his face heating up.

"When we met her on the beach, he couldn't look away," Emily adds. "It was like I suddenly disappeared or something…he went toward her like she was a magnet pulling him in…."

"Sh-shut up!" Jacob chokes.

"Oh really?" Sam says, raising his eyebrows. "That would explain a lot. He hasn't shown this much interest in anything since Bella left."

"Look at him," Leah smirks. "He's blushing. Knows you're right. Good one, Em."

Jake growls, "I _hate_ you guys," in a strangled voice, before fleeing back to his Rabbit. But his wolf won't be caged; he only gets a little way down the road before he has to pull over, tear off his clothes, and phase.

He howls. _No, no, no. They're wrong. Wrongwrongwrong_—

Deep down, he knows Emily is right. He's attracted to the baby leech. And he loathes himself for it.

***

That night is the first night Jacob dreams about Rennie Cullen.

She dances through his dark dreams shedding light in her wake, ethereal and untouchable. His dream-self doesn't even try to loathe her—his subconscious mind worships her already, this woman-child with Bella's eyes and Edward's smile.

Just before he wakes up, she places her hand on his cheek and says, "I hope to see you again, Jacob Black—"

And he jerks awake screaming.


	8. 7: Leah

**Dancing in the Dark**

**7. Leah**

Throwing Emily's suitcase into the backseat, Leah shuts the car door and leans against it, facing her cousin.

"So you're sure the thing with Jake won't work out?"

"Positive." Emily sighs. "Okay, Lee, he's a nice guy, but I think he's a little too addicted to the misery he's wallowing in."

"You've got a point there," Leah says. "Well, it was worth a shot. Sorry it didn't work."

Em says, "Yeah, me too," kind of wistfully.

"Well, you know Quil is single too, and—"

"No," Emily cuts in firmly. "No more blind dates. If I go out with any of your friends, it'll be because I've met them and I actually _like_ them."

"Well, okay. We'll have a bonfire then," Leah says. "Next Saturday. We can invite Ginny and Rachel too—they haven't been to one in a long time. And you can mingle with all the guys. Get to know some of them. Maybe—"

"_Maybe_," repeats Emily. "All right, Lee, but only because I know you'll bug me until I agree."

"Darn right." They both grin. Then Leah changes the subject: "Speaking of Quil, Claire seemed to really like him."

"Yeah." Em smiles. "He played Barbies with her…she'll probably love him forever. Can I bring her to the bonfire, or is it adults only? I think she'd like to see Quil again."

"We-ell," Leah says, "there will be beer…a lot of it, if I know the boys…but it'll be past her bedtime anyway, so we can put her to bed before it gets too wild."

"Okay." Emily hugs her cousin. "I'll see you next weekend, then. Tell Sethie I said 'bye—and that I still want that barbecued salmon recipe from yesterday."

"I will. See you!"

Leah watches Claire buckle her seatbelt and waves as they pull out of the driveway, heading back home for another week of isolated loneliness. She shakes her head. _Em needs to get out of that place while she still can_.

A jealous thought comes unbidden: _but does she have to move in_ here?

_That's not fair_, she tells herself. She loves Emily, of course. Her cousin has always been one of her best friends—like a sister. But lately she's noticed the way Sam looks at Emily, with a tortured kind of _wanting_…

Sam would never act on it, she knows that much; Emily would be too scared to, even if she felt the same way. Sam's always been fiercely loyal and protective of Leah, his mate. But she hates knowing that his feelings for Emily are more than brotherly. It adds a jarring note of mistrust to their relationship.

And it's not like they need any extra problems—they already disagree on a lot of things. Lately, Sam keeps mentioning how much he wants to have kids, but the doctor confirmed a long time ago that Leah would never have any. In any case, children would only complicate things. They'd have to give up pack leadership—possibly give up phasing altogether—to be able to care for a child and keep it safe. Leah cares about these things. Sam? Not so much. He's got this romantic image of a bunch of little Sams running around the house, and having Claire there only makes him think about it more. She sees it in his eyes when he's watching Emily tuck Claire into her sleeping bag on the floor of the guest room.

Emily would be able to give him the family he wants. She'd have no pack responsibilities and could take care of the kids while he was off saving the world from vampires. She'd clean the bathroom (which is currently Sam's job, as Leah hates it); she'd be able to cook him dinner and not burn it (a talent Leah has never mastered); she'd probably never raise her voice to him (like Leah does on a regular basis).

Deep down inside, Leah's starting to wonder if Sam married the wrong cousin.

Thus, her aggressive boyfriend-hunting on Emily's behalf. If Em finds a boyfriend, she can spend time on the Quileute rez without hanging around Sam too much, and they can all go back to pretending that there was never any such attraction.

Leah sighs and goes inside. Sam looks up from the TV. "Hey, baby," he says. "C'mere."

She grins and goes to him, curling up on the couch with the curve of his arm around her shoulders. Despite it all, she really does love Sam, and she knows he loves her. Now that Emily's gone, they can go back to being a happy married couple alone on a Sunday night, with nothing to do but cuddle and kiss against the TV's comforting background noise.

"Love you, Sam," she mumbles against his shirt.

He doesn't respond in words—just sweeps her up effortlessly and carries her down the hall to their bedroom.

***

On Monday, Sam heads out to his day job as a construction worker (his inhuman strength and inability to stay seriously injured comes in handy in that line of work). Leah's alone for the day and has nothing to do, being currently unemployed—so she calls up Ginny Rivers and asks if she can hang out with the girls for the day.

She's missed the girls she went to school with. The reservation school is so tiny that the grade levels blended together—though all of them graduated in different years, they knew each other well and used to have sleepovers and gossip sessions back in the day.

Once the girls are settled into a table at some tiny café in Forks, one of those same gossip sessions starts up right away, as if no time has passed. When asked how her twin Rebecca is, Rachel reveals that Becca and her Hawaiian surfer-dude husband are having _another_ baby. "She found out it's a girl, and—get this—they want to name it after me."

"Aw, that's sweet," says Kim.

"But what'll they do at family reunions?" Ginny points out. "_Hey Rachel! No, not you, Rachel Junior!_—'Rachel' doesn't have very many nicknames."

"I said if they named her after me, I reserve the right to give her a stupid nickname that everyone will use until she's old," says Rachel. "Like…Bunny."

"You're such a mean auntie."

"I know." Rachel smirks.

Then the talk turns to boys: "Hey Gin, did you know your brother asked me out yesterday morning? Yeah, I met him on the beach and we talked and he said…."

Ginny giggles as Rachel narrates Paul's stammering, awkward side of the conversation. "That sounds like him at fourteen…thinks he's such a ladies' man now, the little poser. Hasn't changed a bit since he was a horny teenager."

Leah says, "Careful, Rach. Jared told me he keeps a knife under his pillow…to notch his bedpost with."

They all snicker. Rachel's laugh seems halfhearted, however: "Oh, come on, you guys, I think it was kind of sweet. He's not _that_ much younger than me, anyway."

"So what'd you say?"

"Turned him down, of course, but I told him I wasn't dating because of a bad relationship." Rachel presses her lips together, looking down at her latte. "I didn't elaborate."

They all groan in sympathy; all of them know what happened with Rachel's last boyfriend. Uncomfortably, they change the subject—this time to a discussion of Kim and her boyfriend Derek.

"I invited him to come over next weekend," Kim says, "so you'll all get to meet him. He was kind of afraid of it being all estrogen, but I told him about your brothers and their gang… I think he's looking forward to hanging out with them and doing guy stuff. You know. Talking about football or whatever."

They all kind of nod awkwardly. Ginny's the only one who's even met Derek. Leah wants to ask what the guy's like, but it would seem rude. So she allows herself to imagine that he's a tall, blonde white guy with long hair who writes poetry and organizes peaceful protests on the weekends. The vision amuses her; it's just the type of guy she imagines would be getting a Bachelor's in art in Seattle, as Kim has just finished doing.

Putting that kind of guy in the middle of the pack—her rough, backwoods boys with their stupid inside jokes, Quileute-language swearwords, and violence-for-fun attitude—would probably scar him for life.

Leah smirks to herself and says, "Then he's invited to our bonfire next Saturday—in fact, you all are."

Let the fun (at Derek's expense) begin.


	9. 8: Seth

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Seth**

"Hey, bro," Seth says, pounding fists with Embry as he walks into the Wolf's office on Monday. "What's up?"

"Business as usual," Embry shrugs, picking up some papers and turning to shuffle through the filing cabinet. He fails to look innocent enough; his hair is sticking up at an odd angle and there's lipstick on his mouth. Not to mention that Angela, sitting demurely at the desk behind him, has got some smeared halfway across her cheek.

Seth knows full well why they installed that little bell over the office door.

"Kindergarten's out for the day?" he asks her, winking. She turns slightly pink, but nods. "If that's finger paint on your face, you might wanna…" he makes a wiping motion on his cheek.

She blushes some more, but manages a reproving half-smile as she says, "Stop teasing, Sethie."

"Aw, you know I love you guys…gross PDA and all." He leans on the front desk. "At least you're doing it here and not in front of the kids. Might scar 'em for life."

"Shut up, man," Embry says, flinging a pen at him. Seth catches it and begins to twirl it in his fingers.

"You guys hear about the bonfire Sam and Leah are having on Saturday?"

"Yeah," says Embry, "apparently she wants it to be more than just pack-only. Still tryin' to get poor Emily a date."

Seth winces. He knows how much Em hates having guys flung at her—the single friend who everyone delights in introducing to their nice cousin/friend/brother/friend's cousin's brother. Lately, Leah's been less and less of a good friend to Em (which Seth suspects to be partly due to jealousy), so Em has turned to Seth in search of a cousin who understands her feelings. While Seth taught her the secret Clearwater recipe for the best barbecued salmon ever, she poured out her insecurities and confessed that she just wanted Mr. Right to arrive already and get it over with.

That was a bit awkward—Seth's never been really great at girly talk. He was really glad when his mother interrupted, allowing him to slip away "to the bathroom."

"Aren't Ginny and Rachel and Kim coming too?" Angela says. "I've been wanting to meet them. Ginny was so nice when she came over for Christmas."

Seth laughs. "Don't let her nice act fool ya. She's _crazy_… dressed me up in drag once while I was crashed on Jake's sofa. And this was when I was eighteen, mind you. I didn't know until I wandered out of the house and Collin, Quil, and Paul were standing there with one of Paul's girlfriends." He shakes his head ruefully. "Thank God I managed to get the lipstick off before they took blackmail pictures."

"Aww," says Angela, getting him back for the teasing, "I think you'd make a cute girl."

Embry snickers while Seth mock-growls at her. But their idle banter is cut off by the phone on the desk ringing.

Embry picks it up. "Wolf Auto Repair, what can I do for you?" Pause. "Sam, I told you not to call on the work line! This better be an emergen…" A longer pause. "Code V? Damn, I can't go. I've gotta mind the shop, and Jake's really busy right…huh? Oh, yeah, Seth and Jared are here… no, they're not workin'…okay, fine, I'll send 'em. If you need reinforcements, let me know, but call my cell this time! …Later." He hangs up. "Code V, dude. Get Jared outta the shop—Sam's out in the boondocks someplace, buildin' somebody's rustic cabin, and he says he smells vampire. A lone one, possibly tracking a human…."

The rest of Embry's explanation is cut off as, with a cheerful jingling of bells, Seth slams out of the office.

At Seth's shout of "Code V!" Jared bangs his head on the underside of someone's Toyota in his hurry to follow. "We got it, Jake," Seth adds when Jake emerges from behind the hood of someone else's Buick. "Hold down the fort."

The two of them lope off on foot. As soon as they hit the trees they phase, Sam's hunting call instantly sounding in their heads.

They follow the sound of the pack leader's voice as he fills them in on the details.

_Definitely a tracker, this one_, Sam says grimly. _He's been careful. Must know about us_. A flash: skillfully concealed tracks, the smell of a frightened human girl. _She went hiking…and he was waiting at the trailhead_.

Jared howls, and Seth senses his extra worry through their connection. He's recognized the scent. It's Jared's kid sister, Elizabeth. _Holy crap_. Extra adrenaline surges through Seth's veins—he _knows_ this girl. She's only sixteen. If the vamp gets to her before they get to him….

_Stupid, stupid_, Jared is thinking. _Told her to take someone with her when she goes out in the woods by herself…_.

_Stop it_, Seth sends, gnashing his teeth at Jared as they run. _Guilt won't help. Let's just save her_.

Brady and Quil join them then, picking up the call. _Not Liz_, Brady says in consternation—_I was helping her with trig last night. She can't get…_.

Screams echo in Seth's ears. They're close.

Sam reaches them first—slams into the vamp with a roar. His mind becomes a tangled blur of fighting and pain. This vamp's good. Experienced. Sam might not be able to take him alone.

Jared's next on the scene, with Seth right behind him. Liz is cowering, terrified, against a boulder—crying and cradling her right wrist.

Jared goes blind with fury and throws himself at the vamp. They tumble head over tail down a ravine, tearing at each other. Sam shakes himself and leaps after them.

Seth longs to rip at the vampire himself, but something stops him. Someone's gotta take care of Liz. He lopes a little way up the trail, phases back, and puts on his pants, then runs back to her.

She's standing now, shaking visibly, and is limping back down the trail, looking as if she'll pass out any second. He makes a noise to let her know he's there, and she screams and trips over her own feet.

"It's just me," he says soothingly. Snarls down below announce Quil and Brady's arrival—hopefully the four of them will be able to take the leech. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's just Seth. 'Member me? Jared's friend?"

She leans over and retches into the weeds at the side of the trail.

Seth kneels next to her and puts a hand on her bare arm. Everything feels cool to a werewolf, but he can tell her skin is too cold. She's not just shaking from fear—she's shivering. Probably going into shock.

"Are you hurt?" he asks. _Her wrist_. He helps her to her feet and examines it. It's bent at an odd angle and looks broken. There're new bruises swelling on her head and arms—the vamp must have been pushing her around before Sam got there. Playing with her. The thought makes Seth feel a little sick too.

"I gotta get you to a hospital," he mutters. "Do I need to carry you?"

She shakes her head, and then promptly faints. Having expected this, Seth catches her and picks her up, careful of her broken wrist.

The trail seems twice as long with only two legs.

***

By the time Jared, with the help of the others, has taken care of the vampire, Seth is pulling into the parking lot of Forks Hospital in Liz's granddad's car (which she apparently borrowed for the hiking trip). The doctors are sympathetic when Seth explains how Liz fell down the ravine while hiking, breaking her wrist and bruising her all over. He just prays the fingerprint bruises that vamp left won't show too clearly until Liz is outta there—or he might find himself accused of being an abusive boyfriend.

They stick an IV in her arm to get some fluids into her, set her broken wrist, and then tell her to rest until her parents arrive. Seth asks if he can stick around 'til they show up, and since he's the only guardian there at the time, they let him.

He texts Sam to send Jared to Forks Hospital as soon as the vamp is dead, and then settles down to wait.

He thinks Liz is sleeping, but after awhile she opens her eyes and mumbles, "What were those wolf things?"

"Uh…" Seth freezes up. "Uh, wolf things? What d'you mean? Hey, you're supposed to be resting."

"I am resting. See. Not moving." She licks her lips. "Hey, can you get my ChapStick out of my bag? And maybe some gum?"

He does so, glad to change the subject, but he senses she's not quite letting him off the hook. He's right.

"That man was attacking me," she says, clumsily applying the ChapStick with her left hand, "and the wolves attacked him. That means they…saved me." She takes a moment to chew the gum thoroughly before continuing. "He said my blood smelled good. That he wanted to taste it." She shudders and presses her lips together. "Was he a vampire?"

Seth forces a laugh. "Don't be stupid. Vampires don't exist."

"Yeah, and neither do werewolves," she sighs, closing her eyes. "I hallucinated the whole thing. That's what you're going to tell the doctors if I say anything, right? You know, there's a whole lot of Quileutes who've hallucinated giant wolves. Even some white people. I remember it in the papers when I was in elementary school… they went and hunted 'em down because they thought they killed somebody. But it wasn't the wolves that were killing people, was it?"

"I—don't know—what—"

She blinks her eyes open at him. "My brother's a werewolf. So are you."

He opens his mouth. Can find nothing to say. Closes it.

Liz sighs. "Shoulda believed him when he said it was a bad idea to go out in the woods alone. I didn't think there were that _many_ vampires around here."

"There aren't," Seth says, resigned. "That was the first one in a month, unless you count Rennie…."

"Aha!" She smiles, wanly triumphant.

"They like it here 'cause there's not very much sun," he explains. "God, I shouldn't be telling you this. Sam's gonna kill me…."

"I'll pretend I blacked out," Liz says quickly. "I won't tell them I know. I just…wanted to know for sure. You know?"

"Uh…."

"It sucks being the only one in the dark," she says, her weak voice acquiring a bitter edge. "Things no one talks about, not even to each other, but somehow they _know_—and when you ask questions, they tell you you're imagining things—half the rez knows the truth, but even my own parents won't admit it to me. They told me they kicked Jared out 'cause they wanted him to support himself, but I saw the claw marks on Dad's arm…."

Seth cringes. He's seen those claw marks too, in Jared's mind during unguarded moments, always washed over with a sense of guilt and remorse for losing his temper. Jared's never been on great terms with his old man, but he does regret those scars on Mr. Whitehorse's bicep.

Liz suddenly changes her approach and asks, "I won't get in trouble, will I?" in a small voice.

Seth shakes his head. "Nah, I won't tell if you don't. Just…you know it's s'posed to be secret, right? You can't go around telling everybody…."

She nods, and then winces and rubs her neck. "I know. I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Cool." He reaches out to ruffle her hair, but somehow the gesture fails to be properly patronizing. He withdraws his hand, realizing it was more like a caress than a pat on the head of someone's kid sister. _Awkward_.

_She's jailbait, man_, he tells himself. _Don't even think about it_.

_I'm not thinking about it. Do you see me thinking about it?_

_Crap, I_ am_ thinking about it…_

Luckily, Liz's mom shows up right about then, closely followed by a disheveled, half-naked Jared with several already-closed scratches all over his torso. They smother Liz with "are you okay"s and "don't you ever do that to us again"s. Seth backs out of the room.

_There's something very wrong with you, dude. Jared's kid sister? There is no possible way that could end up well_.

But despite his inner voice railing at the very idea, he can't help but admire the girl's bravery. This is just another day in the life of a werewolf, but the encounter could have been the worst trauma of Liz's life. Yet after the fainting, vomiting, and shaking were out of the way, she was still brave enough to face the truth of what almost happened to her.

Seth growls and puts it out of his mind, exiting the hospital and heading toward the Wolf. The day's not over yet, and Jake's probably swamped with work. If there's anything that'll take his mind off accidentally playing knight in shining armor to a cute, way-too-smart sixteen-year-old, it's changing oil all day while listening to sports commentary and bad rap music on Jake's old beat-up radio.


	10. 9: Rennie

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Rennie**

After spending the last week in Paris, Rennie Cullen finds the small town of Forks strangely quiet.

For months she's been traveling, surrounded by strangers and city lights. Alone except for a guide book and the limitless credit card in her bra, she's stood in all the most famous and historical cities in the world. Jerusalem. Cairo. Athens. Dublin. Venice. And even Volterra, for a few very interesting days. Right now, Rennie has the life most people can only dream of: she's young, rich, beautiful, and she has absolutely no responsibilities.

And she's grateful for that. Really, she is.

It's just—she can't shake the feeling that something's missing. Sure, she's _happy_. She has the world wrapped around her finger. But there are those nights when she stares at the ceiling of the hotel room and wraps her arms around herself and is _lonely_.

Her days have been filled with socializing, of course; she can't travel without meeting people. She makes friends quickly, and says goodbye just as easily at the end of the day. Several handsome foreign boys have tried to tempt her into inviting them up to her room, but she gently rejects them all. No matter what her passport says, she's only seven years old—hardly ready for the relationship they're seeking.

It's not romance she wants, not exactly. It's simple emotional attachment. Something lasting beyond a day. Something like what her family has. Beyond the romantic pairs, there's more there—a familial bond strong enough to hold them together through hardships and spur-of-the-moment moves to hide their true selves from the humans around them.

Rennie's spent her whole life belonging to them, and though she savors her independence, she misses that connection.

The emptiness becomes more pronounced as soon as she arrives in Forks. It's a lovely place, all lush forests and pearly-gray skies. It's the perfect final stop, to cool down from her trip and consider everything that's happened to her—to sit in a café as rain patters down outside and read through her travel journal, smiling into her French vanilla latte as she remembers the lives she's briefly touched.

But she starts to notice things. People smiling at each other when they pass on the sidewalk, waving from behind the wheel of their car. People who know each other and _acknowledge_ each other, stopping to lean on the store counter and chat until the next customer arrives. This small-town connection, the shared experience of living in this lovely, dull little speck on the map, encompasses everyone in the town.

Except her.

Even Grandfather seems unsure of her. She's a stranger, an outsider, an anomaly that no one quite knows what to do with.

Only one person has shown no hesitation whatsoever in his treatment of her. Jacob Black hated her the second he laid eyes on her, and his opinion does not seem to have improved on further acquaintance.

Rennie knows she should leave him alone, but he fascinates her, this boy from her mother's past. She remembers Mother's stories of Jacob—the infectious smile, the cheerful, careless, upbeat love for life. _Jake was sweet_, Mother said, always in the past tense. _He was my best friend_.

_Why not anymore?_ little Rennie once asked.

Mother's brow furrowed. _When he joined Sam's pack…I think a part of him died. He wasn't a child anymore_.

Rennie opens her travel journal now, curled in the corner booth of the café, and writes, _When Mother left, the rest of him went with her. He is an old man now, stuck looking like he is twenty-five_…

Without meaning to, she begins to trace an outline of his face below those words. Short dark hair, high cheekbones, the shape of his nose. A few more pen-strokes, and his eyes are staring out of the page, dark and unbearably sad.

The drawing unnerves her, and she closes the book on it. _I wonder if the old Jacob Black is lost forever_, she thinks, _the one my mother loved. Could he ever come back?_

She flips back to the same page and, thoughtfully, adds a mouth to the drawing. A smile.

Instead of happy, he looks sardonic—like he's daring her to _try_ to make him happy.

"Now you are just being stubborn," she says under her breath.

_I do not think I should give up on him_, she writes under the picture. _Too many people have already done that_.

***

She goes to the Wolf again, but this time does not approach him. Instead, she enters the office, a bell tinkling overhead. The two people in the office jump apart when they see her. A man, Quileute like Jacob, wearing a button-down shirt with the shop's logo appliquéd over the breast; and a tall young woman, dressed conservatively and wearing glasses.

The woman giggles guiltily and wipes at the corner of her mouth with her thumb. The man clears his throat and says, "Welcome to the Wolf, what can I do for—oh—"

He has recognized her, about the same time as she recognizes him. He's one of the shapeshifters that met her in Port Angeles. One of Jacob's pack.

"Hi," she says. "We were not formally introduced before; I'm Rennie."

"Uh, Embry," says the man.

The woman glances at him, her mouth forming an O. "I'm Angela," she says finally, coming around the desk to stand in front of Rennie. "You're Bella's daughter—the one they were talking about before. Right?"

Rennie nods.

A smile dawns across Angela's face, and she reaches out to shake Rennie's hand. "It's lovely to meet you," she says. "I was Bella's friend in school. I haven't seen her since she married Edward. How is she doing?"

Somewhat surprised at Angela's unfeigned kindness, Rennie answers, "I have not seen Mother in several months—I have been traveling. But I understand she and Dad are doing very well."

"Will you please say hi to her for me?" Angela asks. "I'd love to see her sometime, but I know she and Edward aren't allowed to come back to Forks, so…." She shrugs helplessly.

"What are you doing here?" Embry interrupts.

Rennie sees he doesn't mean to be rude, that he actually wants to know, so she answers truthfully, "I want to know more about Jacob Black. Since you work with him, I guessed you could help."

Embry glances out the window. "He'll murder me if he sees me talkin' to you. No offense, but he, uh, kinda doesn't want you to be here."

She smiles sadly. "I've noticed."

Jacob's pack mate gives her an appraising look, glancing from her to Angela. Something that Rennie doesn't quite catch passes between the couple, and Embry relaxes a bit and leans on the counter. "So," he says, offering an amiable smile, "what do you want to know?"


	11. 10: Paul

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Paul**

Paul thinks, _I might be a masochist_.

Despite Jared's taunts, he won't concede defeat in their little bet—and so, every morning at the crack of dawn, he hauls himself out of bed and goes running on Second Beach, so he'll have an excuse to "accidentally bump into" Rachel Black.

Getting up early turns out to be pretty dang hard when you've been up 'til one-thirty the previous night—which means Paul has to turn down several opportunities to go out and get drunk. (Jared mutters, "Is the apocalypse here yet?") He goes to bed at a decent hour and, in an act of defiance, _actually cleans his room_ to prepare for the dreamed-of day when Rachel Black will step unsuspectingly into it.

As for Rachel herself, if she doesn't encourage him all that much, well, she doesn't _dis_courage him either. On Monday, she shows him one of her poems. It looks like gibberish on the page, a jumble of words he doesn't care about, but when she begins to read it aloud, the sound of her voice turns it into a lilting spoken-song. Sadness and anger turn sweet in her mouth to tell him a story about her. The last bit sticks in his mind because it references a movie he's seen:

_I wish I could forget, like Eternal_

_Sunshine. You and I, all that wasted_

_passion—we were over before we even_

_started._

"Who's it about?" he asks. _Who could she want to forget so badly that she'd let some shady company erase her memories in her sleep, like in _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind?

She flips the notebook shut. "My ex," she says flatly.

_Well, that explains everything, of course_. But he holds the sarcasm in.

On Tuesday, she waits for him at the trailhead, and they walk down to the beach together. "I'm sorry if I was snappish yesterday," she says, scraping bedhead-hair out of her eyes. She gives him one of those sideways through-the-lashes glances, and there's a sharp flip of weakness in his gut.

"'s okay," he says, shrugging. "I'm not too friendly, either, when I've just got outta bed."

She laughs and nudges him with her shoulder. He swallows hard, feeling for an instant how small and cool and light she is. And how soft. Her scent is stronger in the morning, before she's showered and covered it up with perfume. He breathes it in and thinks how odd it is to be attracted to someone's body odor.

_Oh, Paul, you sick bastard_, he thinks. _You've gotta get out of this while you can. While you've still got balls left_.

Rachel says, "You awake still, Rivers?" and her sharp fingernails pinch the inside of his wrist. He yelps and yanks his arm away, rubbing the little red prints.

"Baby," she teases. "Jake's just the same way. Can break his leg and not make a sound, but pinch him or pull his leg hair and he tears up like a little girl." Her eyes sparkle at him. "He's ticklish too. Are you ticklish?"

"No," Paul says, glaring.

She tries to tickle him, but he puts a hand on her chest to hold her at arm's length. His arms are longer, and she can't reach him, no matter how hard she tries.

He tries not to notice that his hand is very close to where her breasts create a swell in her baggy old hoodie.

"Okay, okay, truce," she giggles. "C'mon, you're not getting much running done, are you? Race you to the beach."

She takes off, and although he could easily outrun her, he lets her win.

On Wednesday, she asks if he's going to that stupid bonfire of Leah's on Saturday.

"Duh," he says. "There'll be food and beer."

She laughs. "The way to the pack's heart is through its stomach, eh?"

He tenses immediately. "The pack?"

"Yeah," she says, suddenly uncertain as she takes in his expression. "You know, there's like ten of you guys that hang out together a lot? Ginny calls you guys the pack, so I thought…hey, it's better than _amoeba_."

"A-what-now?"

"A large amorphous mass that's kinda useless and sometimes makes you sick…oh, never mind," she mutters. "I s'pose you've never read _Blood and Chocolate_."

"Uh…no." Something about that title bothers him, though. Maybe it's something Ginny read? He makes a mental note to ask her, but then changes his mind and decides it'd be safer to look it up on the Internet.

"D'you want me to stop using it?" Rachel asks. "_Pack_, I mean."

"No, it's okay, I guess." _But scarily close to the truth_. He made another mental note to discuss pack secrecy with Sam. And with Ginny, too, albeit more subtly; he'd never told his sister their secret, but she was too damn smart for her own good. It was possible she'd guessed already. If she was dropping hints to Rachel, he was going to kick her ass, girl or no.

Later, as they're heading back up the trail, the conversation turns to music, and he accidentally admits that he plays guitar. He's endeavored to keep it quiet, because writing music is something those guyliner-wearing gayish band boys do, but in this case the admission pays off; Rachel thinks it's cool, and asks to hear him play sometime.

"Uh, maybe." _Or never_. The only people who've ever heard him play are Granddad Whitehorse (his teacher) and Jared, who regularly bangs on the wall to shut him up. The beat-up old hand-me-down instrument is a guilty pleasure, an artistic outlet he's kinda ashamed of; he's never thought about using it to recommend himself to girls before.

"Maybe I can write some lyrics for you to sing," she suggests, waving her little poetry book.

"Yeah…" For once, he's glad to see her slide into the driver's side of her car and wave at him, the hot pink fuzzy dice swaying from her rearview mirror as she backs out of the lot.

He waits 'til she's gone and then phases, glad none of the pack is out this morning. His thoughts are too embarrassing to share. Why does Rachel Black make him feel so vulnerable? He is _always_ in control, has been since he finally got a grip on his anger management issues when he was a teenager. No one is allowed to get the better of him; at one time it was actually dangerous, but now it's just a complex. And now _she_ shows up and neatly upends his life, overpowering his senses without even trying.

It's not the threat of cleaning house that keeps him coming back here every morning, not anymore. It's because he wants her—he's addicted to her presence, thinks about her for the rest of the day after they've said goodbye, keeps mistaking other small dark-haired girls for her and has to pause to make his heart stop racing.

He won't call it love, because love is for losers who want to get married and chase around brats for the rest of their lives. But it's different from what he felt for his other conquests. Those girls didn't take over his brain and make it impossible to even _think_ about wanting another girl. He wouldn't've told those girls that he liked to play guitar.

Paul thinks, _I should give up. Lose the bet, clean the house. Escape while I still can—_

But he can't. Not now. Not when talking to her is the highlight of his day.

***

Later, he Googles "_Blood and Chocolate_."

He clicks on the Amazon listing for the book, reads the synopsis, and then sits there swearing quietly as he stares at the screen.

It's a book about _werewolves_.

_She knows_.


	12. 11: Jacob

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Jacob**

She's sneaky. Scarily so. He hardly has time to breathe in her scent before her hand is over his mouth.

"Do not phase," she whispers in his ear, her small white hands startlingly strong as she restrains him. "And please do not lick my hand either; it's disgusting and childish, and will only add another hour to your sentence."

Jake retracts his tongue and ceases struggling as she cuffs his hands behind his back and leads him to his car. _What is this? Some kind of weird bondage game?_

She neatly steals the keys from his pocket and, after depositing him in the passenger seat and locking the door, slides in behind the wheel.

"What the hell?" he manages to sputter.

"I am staging an intervention of sorts," Rennie says calmly. "I speak for myself and your entire pack when I say that we do not enjoy seeing you wallow in misery. Seven years is more than enough time to sulk. So I am going to _force_ you to have fun, in handcuffs if necessary. And the longer you struggle against it, the more time you will have to spend with me. Understand?"

_Holy crap_, Jacob thinks. _Baby vamp has completely lost it_.

***

He hasn't been to this arcade since he was about eight. There're a couple of new games, but his favorite is still there—the car racing one, with the real steering wheels that fascinated him when he was younger.

Rennie has taken the cuffs off, thank God, since he swore on his father's wheelchair not to run away. It's freaking scary—she knows everything about him now. What buttons to press, how to manipulate him…and what oaths he'll keep on pain of death. The wheelchair one is pretty damn binding, but he actually considers breaking his promise and running for it—he's that weirded out. Eventually, though, he decides to humor her. She hasn't threatened actual bodily harm, and anyway he doubts she can _make_ him have fun if he's this dead-set against it.

But when she puts him in front of the old steering wheel, sets the machine to two-player mode, and rolls up her sleeves, he finds his resolve weakening. He really loves this game—it brings back some great memories (him and Embry battling it out, shouting war cries that would have made their most violent ancestors cringe). How the hell does she _know_? Can she take stuff _out_ of his head as well as putting stuff _in_?

"I doubt you could beat me," she taunts. "Vampire reflexes."

"Oh yeah? _Werewolf_ reflexes!"

They nearly break the steering wheels. They _do_ break the record score.

Jacob wins. But he's not entirely sure she didn't let him.

***

_Damn her!_

How does she know that pizza is his favorite food in the whole entire world? And that Mountain Dew is his favorite drink?

Against his will, he eats the pizza. Almost all of it, in fact; she eats only one slice, saying it's all she needs. "I cannot eat too much human food at once," she tells him with a wry smile. "Especially not high-carbohydrate and fatty foods. My body cannot process them very well."

He curls his lip at the gross thought of half-vampire digestion processes, but still demolishes the rest of the pizza.

"How much longer are you going to do this to me?" he demands, after a long, deep belch.

Her eyes sparkle. "You are content now. That is one step closer to happy…we must take a few steps more."

"What—can you read my mind without touching me or something?"

"No," she says, with that infuriating Edward-smile. "Your posture gives you away. And the belching, too."

He sits up straight from his comfortable slouch and glares, daring her to tell him to say "excuse me." She doesn't—just holds up a newspaper clipping. The headline announces: _Port Townsend Classic Car Show Draws Diverse Crowd_.

"You _are_ a mind-reader," he accuses.

She shakes her head, amusement flushing her pale face, and grabs his wrist. "Come on, Jacob Black. You will be made to have fun, if it is the last thing I do."

***

As Jacob drools over a lovingly maintained '57 T-Bird, Rennie admits softly, "I asked your friend Embry to tell me things you like. Do not blame him; he did not want to talk to me, but Angela made him. She is a very nice young woman, by the way. He is lucky."

Jake growls, "Pack traitor." It sounds weak, even to him. Embry really can't be blamed for stuff he does while Angela is around. Under her influence, he has been known to attend church repeatedly, wear a tuxedo, and even learn ballroom dancing.

Though his pride won't let him admit it to Rennie, he can't deny to himself that this car show is actually really fun. Rennie's not bad company, either. She knows—and appreciates—her classic cars. Probably a result of having that muscle-bound leech Emmett for a pseudo-uncle.

Later, they walk down a steep flight of stairs set in the side of a cliff and walk together down the beach. Jacob is reminded forcefully of the first time he saw her—she was standing on a beach then, too, at sunset with her shoes in her hand and her feet bare in the water.

She holds his hand, and he doesn't object.

"Admit it," she says, "today was fun."

"Let's see…you kidnapped me from my job…used my own interests against me…and let's not forget the handcuffs…"

She laughs, not a bit sorry. "I will not hold it against you if you admit you had fun. I will not even tell your friends."

"It was torture," he says stubbornly. But he can't stop himself from smiling.

"Aha!" She stops and grins at him, triumphant. "I saw that. A smile."

He frowns. "What smile?"

Those brown eyes search his. _Oh, God, she's reading my mind again, I just know it_…

"You should smile more often, Jacob Black," Rennie says, reaching up to touch the corners of his mouth lightly with her thumbs. "It is a nice smile."

Suddenly, he is flooded with a feeling of pure and innocent happiness—a joy in simplicity, evening sunlight on faintly glowing skin, fingers brushing warm flesh, a smile that makes his heart flip—

He realizes it's not his own emotion. It's _hers_. She has put things in his head again. And, oh, the feelings are wonderful. He hasn't felt this way since Bella was here. But this isn't right. These are _her_ feelings… for _him_.

_Oh God_.

Rennie Cullen loves him.

Jerking away from her touch, he backs up. "Don't," he says roughly. "Just—_don't_, okay? I can't, I can't stand it."

"I am sorry," she says, her cheeks coloring with the realization of what he's seen. "I did not mean to—sometimes it just happens when I am not paying attention. Forgive me, Jacob. I promise it will not happen again—"

"_No_," he says, and runs.

He doesn't look back, just finds his way to the forest and phases. He expects her to chase him, but thankfully she does not. After that, the run home is a blur. Quil and Embry are watching TV when he staggers in; he doesn't even have the energy to punch Embry's face in, just goes into his room and flops onto the bed.

_If there is a god, and you're listening_, he prays, _just kill me now, okay?_

But God is apparently not listening, because Jacob wakes up the next morning, miserably alive.

His Rabbit is parked in the driveway, the keys in the ignition.


	13. 12: Seth

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Seth**

"Hey dude, how's your sister?" Seth asks Jared on Wednesday.

That casual question is the result of two restless nights' worth of wondering whether it would be tempting fate to go see Liz. He is, after all, her rescuer—or at least the only one she's supposed to know about. But then he thinks about that momentary shock of attraction between them and how girls always fall for guys who rescue them from stuff, and knows that hanging out with her would be a bad, bad idea.

Jared shrugs. The two of them are spending the day doing yard work and maintenance for Seth's mom, so Jared's up on a ladder cleaning out the gutter and Seth is hacking away at Sue's overgrown hedges with a pair of clippers. "Haven't seen her that much, but if I know Liz she's using her broken wrist as an excuse to get out of all her chores…and probably her homework too."

Seth snorts a laugh. It sounds exactly like what he would have done…before he got super werewolf healing powers and couldn't get any bones to stay broken.

"She mentioned you," Jared adds.

"Really?"

"Yeah, like every other sentence. Thinks you're really heroic for saving her life." Jared makes a sarcastic _pffft_ noise. "It was Sam and me who killed that vampire, thank you very much. But I'm just her brother, so she'd rather hero-worship you…"

"Think I should go see her?" Seth asks, tempting fate again.

"Man, she's probably watching the driveway waiting for you." Jared looks down and points the trowel at him. "Don't you mess with her, though, 'cause if you do, I'ma have to beat you up."

Seth exhales. "No worries."

_If there's anyone worrying, it'll be me_.

***

"Oh, hello, Seth," says Mrs. Whitehorse, peering timidly around the door. "Come in."

He looks around the small, dim hall and directs a polite smile at Jared's mom in her old-lady housedress. "Hi, Mrs. Whitehorse. I came to see if Liz was okay."

"She's better now," Jared's mom says. "She's watching TV right now—through there." She points into the living room.

Seth steps into the room. Liz turns to see who it is, then quickly turns off the television and stands up. Her arm is encased in a purple cast, but she seems to have showered and fixed her hair despite this inconvenience.

"Hi, Seth," she grins, reflexively cradling her hurt wrist with the other arm.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh, I brought you some flowers." He offers the bouquet.

She blushes, but looks pleased. "Thank you. Did you pick those yourself?"

"Yeah." Hey, the least his mom owed him for the yard work was to let him pick some of her flowers.

"C'mere, I'll find a vase to put them in." She picks her way through the living room. "Sorry about the mess. It's not one of Mom's good weeks."

Seth winces. He knows from Jared that the Whitehorses are a pretty dysfunctional pair—Mrs. Whitehorse has some kind of undiagnosed mental problem (Jared thinks it's bipolar disorder) and Mr. Whitehorse gets abusive when he drinks, which is often.

They go into the kitchen, where Liz rummages through the cupboard awkwardly with her left hand. Finding a vase, she goes to fill it with water, but Seth takes it from her. "Let me."

"Oh—thanks." She blushes again.

"So," he says over the sound of running water, "you seem to be recovering well, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Well, the whole…_rawr_." He mimes fangs.

"Oh, that." She sighs and sits down. "Yeah, it was pretty crazy. But the worst part is not being able to talk about it."

"So guessing your parents don't really…"

"Uh-uh." She smiles when he places the vase of flowers in front of her and leans forward to smell one of them. He looks away, afraid the rush of emotion this small action sparked will show on his face. "Yeah, they pretty much suck at communication. Surprise, surprise."

Seth shakes his head slowly, wondering how this girl can keep her spirits up in such a depressing home environment. No wonder vampires and werewolves can't shock her—she's already seen her share of monsters.

_She's so brave_, he thinks again.

"Can you tell me more about it?" Liz asks eagerly. "I want to know what it's like, being a—"

"_Shh_." He looks over his shoulder, but her mom has gone off somewhere else. He sits down next to her and lowers his voice. "We can't just _talk_ about it. It's against pack law. Sam'll have my head—I've already broken enough rules for you."

That comes out sounding different than he meant it to, and now _he_ feels his face growing hot.

Liz starts biting her thumbnail—apparently a nervous habit, since the nail's already ragged and chewed. "Sorry," she mumbles. "I just—it sounds so cool. I mean, you turn into a wolf. Can't you tell me what it feels like, at least?"

Seth sighs. _If Sam finds out_… "It's hard to describe," he says quietly. "At first it was painful and confusing…for a long time I felt guilty whenever I phased, because the first time I did, it triggered my dad's heart attack." Sometimes he still feels guilty about that, even after all these years. "But once you get used to it, it's the most amazing feeling in the world. You're fast, strong, practically immortal…and running with the pack, it's like having nine of the closest brothers in the world. I mean, we get in fights—they're all crazy and messed up in their own ways—but the pack bond, it's great. You always know they've got your back." He pauses.

"Keep going," Liz breathes, taking her thumbnail out of her teeth.

"Being a wolf is—it's different from being human." Seth knows he should shut up, but the way she's looking at him… "Your thoughts are different…simpler. Problems are easier to solve in wolf form. And you'd never guess how cool it feels having a tail—I always thought people should have tails, they're pretty dang useful. But the best part of it is feeling the wind rippling in your fur while you run. It's worth the complications and craziness because it's the greatest freedom in the world."

Liz makes a small sound, and he realizes it's a smothered sob. Her eyes are full of tears, and one spills out and drips down her face as he stops short in consternation.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Did I say something?"

She wipes at her eyes, choking on another sob even as she says, "Oh, God, I'm sorry. Don't look at me. I'm not usually this—" She breaks off and sniffs.

"Should I—" He pushes back his chair and makes to stand up.

"No." She grabs his hand. "No, stay, please."

He gets up, but only to get her a box of Kleenex. He hates watching girls cry. It always makes him feel so helpless.

She dabs at her eyes and says, "I'm okay now…can we pretend that never happened?"

"Uh, okay." He sits back down. "What was it that I said? I didn't mean to—"

"No, don't worry, it's not you," she says. "It's just…I want to be one of your pack."

"What?"

"Really bad," she adds. "It's not just what you said about it, although that helps. But I know what you guys do—you help people. You kill vampires so they can't hurt us poor humans. You—you have a _purpose_. I want that."

"Are you kidding?" Seth says wryly. "We're all destined to be poor as long as we're part of the pack. It screws up our schedule big time—none of us have regular jobs. Well, except Embry and Jake, but even they have to randomly close the shop sometimes…the customers get really annoyed." He pauses; Liz blows her nose. "Maybe we get to help people, be secret vigilantes, but we sure don't seem to be making much contribution to society. Everyone thinks we're lazy deadbeats." He frowns. "Sometimes I think they're not far wrong."

"_Screw_ society," Liz bursts out. "I don't give a crap about being poor and not having a job. You guys have something better. You get to play superhero, but you also have a pack you _belong_ to. They, they support you. Who doesn't want that?"

Seth impulsively wraps her in a hug. It's what she needs right now. He realizes that, while Liz is brave and smart, she's also lonely and starved for affection. No wonder the idea of the pack is tantalizing.

She sniffles again and puts her arms around him. "Can you make me a werewolf?" she asks against his shoulder.

"Sorry, no," he says. "You either have the gene or you don't…and even if you do, I don't know if it'll ever trigger."

"What makes it trigger?" she asks.

He hesitates, pulling back. "Being around a lot of vampires all the time," he says finally. "And then a shot of strong emotion to jumpstart the change. But we don't have any resident vampires since the Cullens left, so nobody's phased in seven years. Sorry." He brushes her hair back gently. "The odds aren't very good, I'm afraid."

She seems distracted by his hands, and catches one of them against her cheek. "You're so hot," she says. "Is that because—"

"Yeah. Werewolf thing." He swallows, because this is turning into something different than brotherly comfort.

Liz is clearly thinking along the same lines. Her fingers slowly curl around his, and he feels a sudden flush of heat where his palm is touching her cheek.

"This is a bad idea," he says, unable to take his eyes from hers.

"I like you, Seth," she blurts out. "I always thought you were—I mean—but now, I—"

He gets it. Teenage crush on older boy. Harmless. Unless the older boy actually notices her, and realizes what a brave, sweet, sad person she is, and lets her pull him into a personal conversation, and lets it get too intimate—

When the older boy lets the teenage girl kiss him, softly at first but then with more urgency as he begins to kiss back—then it's dangerous. Bad. And also incredibly stupid.

But it feels _wonderful_.


	14. 13: The Bonfire, Part 1

**Dancing in the Dark**

**The Bonfire, Part 1**

_I – Quil_

Quil kind of dreads meeting Claire again, because really, who does that little gap-toothed ten-year-old think she is, making him doubt himself like this?

Ever since the fateful game of Barbies last week, he's been thinking. Stuff has to change in his life, and it has to change soon. He's twenty-four years old already, but his life is going nowhere. Thus far, he's considered that to be okay, since he's basically immortal. But Claire's innocent questions sparked a sort of quarter-life crisis.

He doesn't want to do this his whole life. Sure, saving people is rewarding (especially when it's someone he knows, like Elizabeth Whitehorse a few days ago), but it doesn't pay well and it's the worst kind of dead-end job there is.

He wanted to go to college once. The Atearas, like pretty much everyone else on the rez, aren't rich, but Quil knows how to work and study hard. He'd planned, once upon a time, to save up until he had a quarter's worth of tuition saved, and then to work part time and live cheaply to get through an AA degree at some community college. Maybe even a Bachelor's, if he liked it enough. But all those plans went out the window as soon as he phased.

He'd figured on meeting a nice girl at the college, someone out to get her MRS degree maybe. Just someone nice, the kind of girl he could bring home to Mom. That part of the plan hadn't been fully formed before the phase. He thought he had plenty of time to find someone and settle down—until one day a little Barbie-obsessed girl made him wake up and realize he _doesn't_ have as much time as he thought.

Life's short, even when you're immortal.

Now, heading down to First Beach with Jake and Embry, Quil wonders what new mental torture Claire plans to inflict on him.

She pounces on him at once, a tattered copy of _Misty of Chincoteague_ in her hand. "Hi, Quil! C'mere! I want you to meet Auntie Emily!"

Quil, long-suffering, lets himself be dragged over to where Emily is sitting next to Leah. Sam is crouched at their feet, poking at the fire with a long, thin piece of driftwood.

"Auntie Emmy, see, this is Quil," Claire says, jerking Quil over to sit next to Emily. "He's the nice one I told you about. He likes Barbies."

Quil winces. "Uh…yeah, that may be a slight exaggeration."

Emily smiles a patient _I'm-humoring-my-niece_ smile. "Hi, Quil. Nice to meet you."

He tries to talk to her, he really does. But after the usual job-and-weather small talk starters, he can't think of anything else to say. Claire watches him expectantly, but he only fumbles and stammers.

Emily doesn't help him, either; she seems distracted. So finally, Quil gives up and walks down the beach a little way, thinking deep, unnerving future thoughts.

Claire catches up and slips her hand into his. "So you don't like Auntie Emily?" she asks in a small voice.

"Sure, I like her," Quil says. "But I can't talk to her."

"Why not?"

And suddenly, the whole pathetic truth pours out of him, with Claire nodding and listening (and putting her hands over her ears when he swears by accident). "And I still want to go to college," he finishes up, "but I'm stuck here on the rez and I'll never amount to anything!"

Claire hops up onto a piece of driftwood and walks along it, hands out for balance. Standing on the log, she's almost as tall as him. "I think," she says sagely, after much deliberation, "that you should just go to college anyway. If you aren't happy here, you shouldn't stay."

Quil blinks. "You know, Claire, that's actually pretty good advice."

She giggles. "Tell that to Auntie Emily. I keep telling her that if she likes it so much here, then she should move here. But she thinks she should be with Mom and Grandma and me up in Neah Bay, even though she totally hates it."

"Claire!" yells Leah from further down the beach. "C'mere!"

Quil realizes they're breaking out the beer, so it's time for Claire to go. He doesn't know if he'll ever see her again, but it hardly matters. She's already made up his mind for him.

"I have another idea," says the girl as they walk back. "If you have such a problem talking to other girls, maybe you'll just have to marry me when I get older."

Quil laughs. "Okay, Claire, I'll plan on it."

She smiles with those cute gapped teeth. "Me, too."

***

_II – Brady_

"Dang," Brady mutters, "I think Angie is my new best friend."

He and Collin both find their eyes riveted to the two friends that Angela has brought to the bonfire. One is a man, sandy-haired, amiable, and average; the other is a woman, and _wow_, what a woman!

She's about six years older than the two of them, but they choose to ignore that fact. Her hair is highlighted blonde; her eyes, a pretty blue. She's wearing a tight green T-shirt that shows off a mesmerizing set of breasts.

Both of them lean forward in fascination as the woman laughs. "Mike, you liar!" she says, swatting at the man. "I remember freshman P.E. You suck at football. No way did Oregon State let you on to their team!"

"They did," Mike says, grinning ear to ear. "Doubt all you want, Jess, but it's true. You just can't accept that I turned out to be more athletic than you."

"Oh, whatever," Jess says. "Law school is too demanding to allow time for sports. Otherwise, I totally would have kicked butt."

"Her name's Jess," Collin whispers.

"And she is—or used to be—a law student," Brady replies. "Also, she's freakin' hot. I say we introduce ourselves."

"Agreed." Collin hesitates. "Paul approach or Sam approach?"

Brady eyes her up. "Paul approach. She looks like the type to go for a bad boy…that's why she and Blondie are just friends."

"Well spotted, bro." Collin stands. "Let's do it."

They sidle over to the newcomers and put on friendly (if slightly rakish) smiles. "Hey there," Collin says. "Welcome to La Push. This your first time?"

"No, we used to come here when we were in high school," says the man.

"Then you already know how awesome it is." Collin winks. Brady elbows him. _Too much, man. Back off_. "I'm Collin, this is Brady."

"Nice to meet you," says Jess. "I'm Jessica Crowley. This is Mike Newton… we're friends of Angela's from school and happened to be in the neighborhood, so she invited us."

Brady nods. "Cool. Hey, you know what, Mike? See that girl over there? Yeah, the cute one? Her friend's trying to set her up with someone tonight."

Mike winces. "She doesn't look too happy about it."

Collin jumps in smoothly. "She's not. You should go rescue her. Keep her busy so her friend can't push random guys at her."

"You don't mind, do you, Jess?" Mike asks. She shakes her head, and—as Brady mentally congratulates their manipulative skill—Mike leaves the two of them alone with the lovely Jessica.

"You and him aren't a couple, are you?" Collin says.

Brady rolls his eyes. _Wow, way to be subtle_.

"What? Me and Mike? God, no," Jess shudders. "We went out a couple times in high school, but that was it… are you two out of school yet?"

She thinks they're high schoolers? How could she possibly mistake their manly physique for that of a mere child? "We're both twenty," Brady says stiffly.

She laughs. "Okay, I was just making sure. I remember back in high school, I met your friend Jacob and he looked way older than he really was. It's kinda creepy, y'know? Like, if you can't trust looks, then what _can_ you trust?"

Brady glances at Collin. Beautiful this woman may be, but she's also totally superficial.

Oh well.

"Come over by the fire," he invites her. "Can I get you a beer?"

Jess proves to be a willing conversationalist, if not a dazzling one, and the pair of them ply her with beer, make her s'mores, and let her talk. There is no thought to what will happen when she chooses one of them over the other; all they know is that one of them will be getting laid tonight. (Brady briefly considers the prospect of a _ménage a trois,_ but finds that to resign himself to the idea would require quite a bit more beer than has already been consumed.)

And then, just as he's working up to asking if she would like to go somewhere a bit more private, she giggles, "Oh my God, you guys, this is so much fun. Ty is completely missing out."

"Ty?" Collin asks. Brady has that sinking feeling in his stomach. _Oh no, she has a…_

"Husband," Jess says. "Tyler Crowley, my husband. Oh, shoot, didn't I tell you guys about him? He stayed home with our daughter Hayley, so he couldn't make it."

"Cool," says Brady.

"Awesome," says Collin.

Embry leans in behind them, making a crash-and-burn sound effect as Angie laughs.

Brady chugs the rest of his beer, thinking, _wow, we_ really _suck_.

***

_III – Seth_

Seth is having a good time, roasting hot dogs and fighting off Ginny Rivers when she tries to steal them. The bonfire's good. Sam's been practicing the tribal legends he learned from the elders, and he's telling them (well, the edited versions) with dramatic flair to anyone who will listen. Which is only Emily, that Mike kid Angie brought, and Rennie Cullen, whom Jake is stubbornly ignoring. He's surprised the baby vamp showed at all—that took some major guts, even though she _was_ invited (by Leah, who thought it would be fun to watch Jake writhe).

And then _she_ slides out of the passenger side of Jared's pickup.

_Oh, no no no_.

He hasn't spoken to her since the day of the kiss, and he just bets she's pissed. She has every right to. He's been avoiding her, and for no good reason other than that she scares him to death.

But if she confronts him in front of the pack, Sam'll have his head on a platter before he can say "my bad." And after Sam has killed him, Jared'll bring him back to life just to kill him again, this time with more pain and torture.

He watches with bated breath as she scans the group and catches his eye. _Please don't, Liz_.

She comes over to him and stares him down for a moment, hands on hips. He tries not to look away with guilt, but loses the battle.

But she doesn't yell at him. Instead, she sits down next to him and says quietly, "Hi, Seth."

"Hi." He notices that his latest hot dog is on fire; he pulls it out, blows out the flames, and slaps it onto a bun. "Want it?" he offers.

"No thanks." She curls her lip. "You aren't really going to eat that, are you? It's like a lump of charcoal."

He bites into it. "Only way to eat 'em. Pass the mustard, will ya?"

She laughs, then tries to stifle it, as if remembering that she's supposed to be angry with him. "Why didn't you talk to me?" she whispers. "I tried to call you, but your mom picked up. We really do need to talk about…things."

"I know." He hangs his head. "I'm really sorry, Liz. I got scared, all right?"

"What of?"

"Of me," Seth admits. "Of myself. I don't want to sound patronizing, but you're too young for me, Liz. You're a minor, and I'm twenty-one, and I could get in big trouble if things between us went too far. And I really don't want to take advantage of you, because you don't deserve that."

"This isn't because of some stupid threat my brother made, is it?" Liz asks, narrowing her eyes.

"No. This is because I really like you and I don't want to mess it up."

Her dark eyes go all round and doe-ish.

"So listen." He takes a deep breath. "I think we should stay away from each other, at least 'til you're eighteen. Then, when you're out of school and everything, if you still like me, call me up. We'll go on some dates or whatever, see where it goes. If you decide on someone else—no pressure." He finds her hand and squeezes it gently, in the shadows between them where no one can see. "Do we have a deal?"

She considers. "Two years is a long time."

"Yeah, it is."

"But maybe…you and me…together…will be worth the wait?" She looks up into his face for reassurance.

He smiles. "Maybe."

"Okay," she says at last. "Deal. Just friends until I'm old enough." Her hand slips out of his and she reaches for his hot dog. "You going to eat that?"

He lets her have it and starts roasting the next one, laughing at her when she admits that charcoal doesn't taste all that bad.

She leaves when Jared does a little while later, hugging him goodbye in what would appear to others to be a purely friendly manner. But he feels her lips brush his cheek briefly, and hears her whisper: "By the way, you're a fantastic kisser, Seth Clearwater."

_God_. Two years is going to be a _long_ wait.

But definitely worth it.


	15. 14: The Bonfire, Part 2

**Dancing in the Dark**

**The Bonfire, Part 2**

_IV – Paul_

Today is the last day of the bet, and Paul has nearly resigned himself to losing.

Nearly. But not quite.

Rachel Black is _very_ friendly when she drinks. Instead of sitting with her friends, she opts to sit with him; she says he's her only friend who has nothing else to do. Her brother is busy glaring at Renesmee Cullen; Ginny is mooching hot dogs off Seth, and Kim is talking to Jared while holding hands with an unfamiliar guy.

For awhile, they amuse themselves by matching each other drink for drink (Paul slyly doesn't tell her it'll take a LOT of alcohol to get him drunk) and making fun of Sam's rendition of the old legends, which they're only half-listening to. Then, somehow, they get on the subject of Rachel's poetry, and she reveals that she has written a poem about him. "A song, really, but I don't have music for it."

"Oho," says Paul, hoping that the embarrassing heat in his cheeks won't show. "Can I see it?"

Her color's already high; she giggles and shakes her head. "No way."

"Then why'd you tell me about it? You know I'm gonna spend the rest of the night trying to get that notebook away from you."

"Just try it!" She jumps up and waves the little spiral-bound book at him. He mock-growls and gets up to run after her. His spirit wolf is strong tonight, made bold by beer and last chances, and the predator instinct to chase is irresistible.

She flees down the beach, kicking up sand with her flip-flops and laughing so hard it's a wonder she still has breath enough to run. He stalks her easily, the gray sand softening the sounds of his bare feet. Rachel turns around, out of breath, and shrieks a little when she sees he's right on top of her.

He grabs her around the waist and pins her arms so he can steal the notebook. But her words are no longer the issue. It's too dark to read them, anyway. The moonlight peeking out between the clouds reveals everything in her face. Her inhibitions are gone; she can't hide anymore that his proximity is turning her on.

"Rach—"

She kisses him.

Her mouth tastes like beer and marshmallows; her lips are soft, her body relaxed and yielding. They meld together like wax put to a flame, mingling sweetly until they forget they were ever separate.

When they remember to breathe, Rachel says breathlessly, "Let's go somewhere."

He can hardly believe his luck. "You sure?"

"What the hell." She kisses him again, lingering. "I'm gonna regret this in the morning, but right now I don't care."

He doesn't have to be told twice. The eight-minute drive home to the shack is far too long.

Lucky for him, the place is dark, so she can't see what a dump it is. He guides her into his room and fishes for the box of Trojans under his bed.

When he turns around, she's taking her shirt off, revealing a lacy red bra.

Paul nearly falls over.

She sees him staring and laughs self-consciously. "I kinda hoped…you know…so I wore it just in case."

"You hoped…while you were sober?"

"Maybe. Yeah." She looks sheepish.

The last of his doubts about Rachel Black vanish. He pulls her into another kiss, as his spirit wolf silently howls the victory of the kill.

***

_V – Jared_

Derek turns out to be a muscular African-American guy with a trace of an Irish accent. He's enthusiastic about football (both kinds), majored in photography, and has a job, he says, at the Seattle Times.

He's nice, normal, and extremely difficult to despise, even when Jared has to watch Kim hold hands with him all evening. As to her, well, further acquaintance hasn't lessened his interest in her. She's witty and smart without being annoying, extremely attractive without quite managing to be beautiful. The two of them seem made for each other. _They deserve each other_, Jared thinks bitterly. _I could never be good enough for her_.

He resolves to forget about her after tonight, to let her go on with her life, marry this other guy, be happy and normal and werewolf-free.

And then, at a moment when Derek has broken off from their conversation to listen to Sam's legends, Kim confesses in an undertone, "You know, Jared, when we were in high school, I used to have quite a crush on you."

"R-really?" His heart does double time.

"Yeah." She laughs nervously. "Totally embarrassing. Remember how you were kind of the popular one? I thought you were just so cool. You know, I was the weird artist girl, so you never paid any attention to me."

"That's not true," Jared protests. _Is it?_ He remembers seeing Kim in class and stuff, but the school was so small it was hard _not_ to know everybody.

"Yeah, it is," she says, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I don't hold it against you. I only mentioned it because I found some paintings of mine that I did in high school, with, uh, you as a subject."

"_Really?_" Kim did _paintings_ of him? How did he not know? And more importantly, why didn't he see what a great girl she was back then, instead of going with—what was her name? Sharlene or something? Oh, it didn't even matter anymore…

"Uh-huh." She nibbles her lower lip and looks away from him awkwardly. "I'd offer to show them to you, but I didn't bring 'em over…I never expected to see you again. It was kind of a surprise."

Sam's story is wrapping up, and Jared knows he should say something before the chance is gone forever. So he blurts out, "Kim, I—I wish I'd noticed. You, I mean, you're…well, Derek is lucky."

He watches the color rush to her cheeks, and then has to look away because of how jealous he is that someone else gets to look at her every single day, and kiss her and touch her….

"Thanks," she says at last, as Derek turns back to them.

"Kimberly, love, these stories are fantastic," he says with a grin. "Better than Yeats, and that's sayin' something. D'you know if there're any books with them written down?"

Kim answers, but Jared can hardly hear her. He's too busy watching his future slip away, cursing the teenage arrogance that made him ignore Kim Connweller until it was too late.

***

_VI – Jacob_

He hates that Rennie's shown up here. Hates, too, that he's glad she did.

She leaves him alone, waiting for him to come to her. He watches her through the flickering flames, curled on the ground at Sam's feet listening raptly to his stories. She's wearing an ankle-length patchwork peasant skirt and a white shirt, and it strikes him how little she really resembles Bella. Bella would never have worn that skirt; she would have been too self-conscious. But, though the skirt was probably last fashionable when Rennie was a newborn, she wears it with a casual grace that makes it timeless.

With all other girls, he can't stop finding similarities to the girl he once loved. With Rennie, he keeps recognizing differences. The long strawberry-blonde hair, tonight pulled into a loose bun with a pair of fancy chopsticks… the way she moves and speaks, with the poise and careful elocution of someone from another time, from an alien race.

She's seven years old, with the innocence of a child, the intelligence of an adult, and the knowing wisdom of an old woman. There's no one else like her in the whole entire world—he knows this with absolute certainty.

Jacob can't take his eyes off her.

There're ten million reasons why loving her should be wrong. Topping the list is the fact that she's the _daughter_ of his last girlfriend. Below that, the excuses are many and varied: she's half vampire, he's a werewolf. He's twenty-four, she's seven. He swore never to do this to himself again. Blah, blah, blah.

He goes over every single one of them as he watches her. And one by one, they stop mattering.

The night wears on; Sam runs out of stories and disappears off to God knows where. One by one, the rest of the pack finds something (or someone) to do and leaves.

After a long time, it's only Leah left carefully putting out the fire, and Jake and Rennie on opposite sides of the fire pit. Rennie's asleep with her head on her folded arms, her skirt swirling out around her, dusted with sand. Jake is crouched on a piece of driftwood, knees apart, elbows balanced on his legs, leaning forward to keep his eyes on her.

She wakes up suddenly, pressing her hands to her eyes and letting out a soft moan. She looks at her watch and jumps up. It's just past midnight; Charlie's probably expecting her.

Jake finds himself on his feet before he can even think twice about what he's doing. "Don't go," he calls.

Rennie turns back. There's a red mark on one of her cheeks and the chopsticks are falling out of her hair; he's never seen her looking more human.

"I had started to wonder if you would ever speak to me again," she says. There's a little croak of sleepiness in her voice.

He _can't_ speak.

She sees that and smiles, a little crooked half-smile that reminds him less of her father every time he sees it. "I am very sorry for upsetting you so much," she says. "Tomorrow, I am going back to Alaska. I think that is best." She comes closer, hugs him carefully. "I will tell Mother that you are happy."

He returns her embrace, locking her in his arms. "Don't go," he says again, and—horrifyingly—begins to cry.

"Oh, Jacob." She sinks back onto the driftwood log they sat on earlier and pulls his head into her lap. Like a child, he sobs dryly for a few moments—a necessary release, a final breaking of all the walls he's built. At last, he pulls himself back together.

"Please don't leave, Rennie Cullen," he says, almost formally. "If you do, you'll be lying to Bella, and I remember how much she hates that."

"And if I stay?" Rennie asks, smoothing his hair into place absentmindedly.

He hesitates, but just for a second. "I think that will make me very happy."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and she presses her forehead to his. "Me, too," she whispers, and kisses him lightly on the mouth.

When their lips meet, so do their minds. Somehow, Rennie's telepathic power lets her into his head, into the place he normally shares only with the pack. She can see him for exactly what he is: a wounded wolf who has had to re-break twisted bones to let them begin to heal properly. And he understands her love for what it really is: the pure, non-sexual love of a seven-year-old child, asking nothing in return—just giving.

Maybe in time they will be lovers. It is too early for that right now. What they are is more innocent—but also more binding—than that. They are two people who, against all odds, have found in each other a soul mate.

The mental connection ends when the kiss does, though they are still touching. Rennie sighs and leans her head on his shoulder, curling into his warmth like a child.

And at that moment, out in the parking lot, they hear Emily Young screaming.


	16. 15: The Bonfire, Part 3

**Dancing in the Dark**

**The Bonfire, Part 3**

_VII – Emily_

_This bonfire,_ Emily thinks,_ was a really bad idea_.

"So Claire introduced you to Quil?" Leah asks, handing Emily a marshmallow. "What'd you think of him?"

"I don't know," Emily says. "He seemed kind of awkward."

"That's just Quil." Leah looks over at him, walking with Claire down the beach. "He's really nice, Em, if you'll give him a chance."

Emily just shakes her head. She knows full well why Leah's doing this: Sam's not-quite-secret admiring glances, directed at the wrong cousin. They both think she hasn't noticed, but she has, and she hates that the two of them are trying to deceive themselves this way. She doesn't want to be the reason Sam and Leah split up, but if their marriage isn't going to work out, they shouldn't go on lying to everyone and pretending it will.

The worst of it is that, despite her dislike of living a lie, she knows she's not innocent in this. She loves Sam just as dearly as Leah, but she's always thought he is hot. Back when he was devoted to Leah, she never let herself think twice about it. He was Leah's, and that was that. Sam wasn't the first unavailable hot guy she'd been attracted to. Now, though, things are different; the hot guy is suddenly looking at her with interest, and it's hard to resist returning the looks.

Leah introduces her to the rest of her friends one by one, but none of them strike Emily as the type she could ever fall in love with. They're too conceited, or too rude, or too interested in someone else. She knows she ought to stay here because this bonfire was technically for her, but all she wants is to get out of there as soon as possible.

And then Mike Newton comes over and introduces himself.

Emily likes him immediately; he's the kind of man it's impossible to _not_ like. They find that they share a love of fishing and fall into conversation. Emily tells him he ought to come up to Neah Bay and spend a day on her dad's fishing rig. He says, "I might just take you up on that offer."

He's originally from Forks, she discovers, but now lives and works in Portland, having graduated from Oregon State some years back. He describes his job as a "boring office job," but his smiles betray that he really does like it. Apparently, he was here visiting his family and bumped into Jess Crowley, an old school friend who's visiting Embry Call's girlfriend Angela.

No girlfriend, he mentions casually in passing. "High standards," he jokes. But he looks at Emily with admiration, and she finds herself hoping that she meets those standards.

Why didn't Leah think to introduce this one to her? Out of all the potential dates shoved at her, Mike Newton is the only one she actually likes.

Then Sam starts telling stories, and, interested, Mike turns to listen. Emily listens too; she's heard these stories from Old Quil once before, but not from Sam. She tries to pay attention to the words, not the storyteller, but it's hard. She senses that Sam is trying just as hard not to tell the story to her alone.

_This_, she decides finally, _is my last weekend in La Push_. After this, no more tempting fate; she's going to visit other friends, in Seattle maybe, and if things go as well as she's kind of hoping, in Portland.

After Sam finishes the stories, Mike regretfully says that he has to go. "But call me," he says, writing down his number for her, "and I'll call you, okay?"

_Oh, yes, that is _definitely_ okay_.

"Hey Em," Sam says, as she's watching Mike leave with Jess Crowley. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Okay." He has an odd look on his face. Emily's not sure what it means, and so she follows him into the darkness warily.

In the parking lot, he stops and turns to her. She can only see a vague outline of his features, by moonlight and the distant glow of the fire. Leah has begun putting it out with buckets of seawater. This ordeal is almost over, thank God. She thinks of how much she wants to be home sleeping, with Claire's little snores coming from the sleeping bag on the floor.

"I just wanted to apologize," Sam says finally. "I know you're not into this kind of thing, and it was mean of Leah to make you do it."

"It's okay," Emily says. "No, really, Sam. I…I think I met someone." The darkness hides her blush. "The only guy Leah _didn't_ try to shove at me, of course. He was really nice."

"You mean the Newton kid," Sam says. He sounds unhappy.

"Yeah, Mike Newton. Do you know him? He said he used to live in Forks…."

"He's a nice guy." Sam turns away abruptly.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"No," he says gruffly, and turns to face her all at once, his broad shoulders blotting out the moon. "No, I'm not. Emily, I love you, and I hate hearing you say you're interested in another man."

A horrible, shuddering shock goes through her body. "Wh-what?" He can't be doing this. Not now. Not at midnight in a dark parking lot, with his wife hardly a hundred yards away….

"I've tried so hard to fight it," he says, his voice gravelly with emotion. "I love Leah so much. But you—I feel _drawn_ to you, and every time you come near me it gets harder to resist. I just—I have to tell you, Em." He puts his hands on her arms, and she trembles. "I have to tell you that I've been dreaming for so long of doing _this_—"

He bends down and presses his lips to hers, hard, possessive. Emily can taste the beer on his breath and can tell that he's had a lot, which might explain (though not excuse) this rash action. She feels as though she's watching it happen to someone else—the shock has numbed her right out of her body, and she's caught in a limbo as a war rages within her.

Her heart says the kiss _feels_ right. But her mind rebels violently against it. This is so, so wrong. Sam swore to be faithful to Leah until they died. This is a breaking of vows, and it is going to end in a breaking of hearts. Sam cannot have both cousins. Surely he knows this.

She wrenches away from him, struggling out of his constricting arms. "Sam, don't do this to Leah," she begs. "She doesn't deserve this."

"No, she doesn't." He doesn't stop staring at her with that intense, tortured look. Emily starts to cry. She can't help it—she's so confused and scared and angry. He's shaken her faith in her most unshakable morals.

He reaches for her again, but she hisses, "Don't touch me." When he recoils, as if burned, she adds bitterly, "I don't know you anymore, Sam Uley."

Now he's getting mad. "You kissed back," he accuses. "You feel it, too, don't you? There's something between us, something real, and we've just been ignoring it this whole time because of Leah! Do you really want to throw it away for her sake?"

"Leah and I were best friends growing up," Emily says, her voice trembling. "She may have been a bitch lately, but I love her like a sister. This is bad and wrong, and if we never mention this again, I may someday find enough Christian in me to forgive you."

"Forgive _me?_" Sam's voice rises. "What about you, coming over every weekend, just making it worse?"

"I see what you're doing," she says. "You're trying to put some of the blame on me so you'll feel better. I'm not the one who has a problem here, Sam! After this weekend, I'm never coming back to La Push, ever again. I'm going to go out with Mike Newton and be happy, but you'll be sitting back here torturing yourself because you just can't forget things that should be forgotten."

Sam slaps her. At least, later, she thinks that's what he meant to do.

But halfway through the motion, a change comes over him. His clothes explode outward, and black fur ripples across his bare arms, and his face elongates into a snout.

When his hand hits her on the right side of her face (she used to tease him about being a southpaw), it has become a great big paw—and she feels the claws rip through skin and muscle, from forehead to lip.

Then the pain arrives, and she passes out screaming.

***

_VIII – Leah_

When Emily screams, Leah knows—just _knows_—what's happened. She rips off her shirt and phases in an instant, crossing the space between herself and Emily in seconds.

Her cousin is limp on the gravel, covered in blood, and Sam is standing over her, howling in anguish.

Leah is on him in an instant, clawing at him with murderous rage. She knows what has happened—can see every detail fresh in his mind—and she really, truly wants to kill him. If he hadn't already done for Emily, she would kill her cousin too.

They've betrayed her, both of them.

They roll around in a pinwheel of violence, black wolf white wolf, alpha-beta. Despite Sam's size, Leah is a good match for him; she's strong and fast and knows just where to sink her teeth in.

Behind them, Jacob has arrived with Rennie. Seeing Emily, Rennie thrusts her cell phone at Jake and tells him to dial 911. Then she starts ripping up her skirt to bandage Emily's face. "She is alive," she calls. "But she's losing a lot of blood—Jacob, _hurry!_"

Part of Leah—the human part—is glad Emily isn't dead after all. The wolf part just wants to kill things, and the closest thing happens to be Sam.

He's hardly fighting back—she can hear the guilt and anguish in his mind. He thinks he deserves this. He's _right_.

She chews the living crap out of him, until he's bloody and limping. Then, because her human side is waking back up, she lets him go. _I'm leaving you_, she tells him. _Have the house. I don't even care. My stuff'll be out by morning…if I see you again, I'll kill you_.

He hobbles off into the forest to lick his wounds; she phases back, stalks back to the beach for her clothes and car keys, and peels out of the lot just as the ambulance is arriving.

She packs up her stuff in a frenzy, taking only clothes and really important things. She shoves it all into the back seat of the car, then drives as far as she can without stopping for gas.

As she hits Port Townsend, the gauge drops to E. A little disappointed that she didn't make it to the Kingston ferry dock, she parks and goes down to the beach to think.

She's still there when the sun rises several hours later, not crying, just staring out at the horizon and feeling miserably _empty_.

_What am I going to do now?_ she wonders. Sam and the La Push pack are her life. If she turns her back on them, she will be truly alone.

But she can't return to Sam, not now. Not ever.


	17. 16: Rachel

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Rachel**

Sunday morning, Rachel wakes up with a hangover in a lumpy bed that smells like fabric softener and, faintly, dog fur.

She's naked, but so warm she's sweating. The reason becomes clear when she tries to sit up: she's encircled in Paul Rivers' arms, his skin fever-hot against hers.

He's asleep, snoring, his skin glowing in the morning light streaming through the window. She remembers all too well what they did last night, and how, for some reason, she couldn't make it _not_ mean something. She told herself she'd sleep with him once, let it out of her system, then go away and return to getting over Jon in peace.

But _that_, last night, that was something else. She's very tempted to stay here until he wakes up and repeat the process just once more before she leaves. Something in her isn't willing to give him up just yet.

_No_, she tells herself sternly. _I can't_. Ginny and Kim will be wondering where she is. They're meant to leave in—Rachel picks her watch up off the nightstand—four hours. _Crap!_ Gently removing herself from his arms, she gathers her clothes from the various places they were flung and puts them back on. She pauses on the red bra, remembering how much fun Paul had removing it, and, smiling naughtily, decides to leave it on his doorknob. He may not actually have notches on his bedpost (yes, she checked), but he can at least have this little souvenir.

His housemate Jared is still asleep, thank God, and Rachel sneaks out with ease. She even keeps the door from making too much noise when it shuts—or so she thinks. But somehow, Paul hears it.

He's out of bed and running after her in an instant. "Rachel! Wait!" He rockets out the door, hopping on one leg as he tries to put his pants on. "Don't leave!"

"I have to," she says. "In four hours. I'm going back to Seattle. I have a job there. A life."

"But you can't just—God. I thought we really had something. Last night—you're the best I ever—with you, it meant more than just, well, you know what I mean…."

"No, I don't," Rachel says sarcastically. "What do you mean, Paul?"

"I mean I might kind of love you," he blurts, and she would make some snide comment about him saying that to all the girls, but he looks so pathetically vulnerable that she can't bring herself to do it.

She wonders if he actually means it. She hopes he doesn't—it would make this so very much easier.

"I—I just can't do this again," she says. "Paul, I'm so sorry. I didn't think you really—I wanted this to be a one-time thing. Relationships, well, I've kinda sworn them off since—" she stops abruptly.

"Since what?" he asks, coming closer. He's not tall compared to his friends, but she still has to look up at him.

"You really wanna know?" Something inside her snaps. "Okay, I'll tell you, and I'm only saying this once so listen good." She gathers her courage and, finally, gives voice to the bad memories she's spent so long suppressing. "My last boyfriend was this guy named Jon. I was in love with him, and I mean _really_ in love. We dated for eight months and he popped the question. I said yes. We set a date, planned the wedding, had everything in order. I even had my dress made, and it was freaking gorgeous if I say so myself. And then, a week before the wedding, he calls me up and breaks it off. Says he's 'not ready,' whatever the hell that means, and tells me to send the ring back. The next morning, when I went to his apartment to talk to him, his roommate said he had gone off to Vegas with his redheaded, big-boobed co-worker Christine." Her eyes are swimming with tears now—she can hardly see. "I couldn't function for weeks." A little sob breaks out. "So after I recovered, I promised myself I'd never do that to myself again. And I won't. No matter how much I really want to."

She's full-on crying now. Paul steps forward and takes her in his arms, letting her sob against his warm chest. "Rachel," he says, and she _feels_ his voice, "that guy was a total dick. I wouldn't do that to you."

"I don't know that, do I?" she asks, her voice wobbling. "I'm really sorry, Paul. You're a great guy, but it would be way, way too easy to fall in love with you…and I just can't."

And then, she leaves him.

***

Ginny somehow knows what happened and meets Rachel with an "Oh, honey, you didn't."

"Sorry," Rachel says miserably. "I knew you'd take it bad if I got involved with your little brother."

"Take it bad? I think it's the best thing that ever happened to him," Ginny says, forcing Rachel into a chair and handing her a Seattle's Best Coffee cup. "Good for you, too—you need to move on. What I meant was, you didn't really dump him, did you?"

"Oh. That. Yeah. I had to." Rachel sips the coffee. Too sweet. "I mean, he has a rep around here for being a womanizer. He's like the worst possible guy to get emotionally involved with, considering what happened…."

"Did you explain that?"

"Uh-huh."

"And…?"

"He called Jon a dick and said he wouldn't do the same."

Ginny says, "And you _dumped_ him?"

"Yeah…why does that matter? They're just words. I bet he says the same to all the girls."

"My little brother, bless his heart, is commitment-phobic," Ginny says. "And he basically just told you he wants to commit. You probably just broke his heart into a bunch of little tiny pieces."

"Oh." Rachel feels a twinge of regret. If she'd known…

Ginny pats her on the shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. You did what you thought was right. I'm sure he'll get over it eventually. Are you okay being alone? Kim and I are going to see our parents and say 'bye. Derek's coming with."

"Yeah, actually, I think I need to be alone," Rachel says. "You guys go ahead."

She waits until the other two have left the little Forks motel room, and then puts the sugary coffee aside to go shower. She cries as the hot water washes his scent from her and wonders why she's letting this hurt her so much.

She thinks about writing some angsty poetry, but can't find her notebook. Maybe Paul still has it. The thought makes her panic a little, but there's no way she's going back to get it.

***

"You know, I was talking to Jared yesterday and he mentioned some bet they had going about you," Kim says, trying to be consoling. "Maybe he wasn't really as hurt as it seemed."

A bet? Yeah, that sounds like Paul. Rachel is not consoled, though she's a bit flattered, which is almost the same.

They pull up to the ferry dock and pay the toll. Ginny parks the car in one of the lanes and then takes out her phone to text; Rachel stares out the window, thinking how nice it will be to get back to her comfortable, familiar apartment and get to work forgetting this week on the Peninsula.

"Hey, roll down your window, will you? I'm hot," says Ginny. Her tone is a little weird, but Rachel does it, too lost in thought to question.

And then she hears the guitar.

The tune it's playing is catchy—not perfect, but with some polishing it could be good. And the singer's voice isn't great, kind of scratchy and husky. But the words he's singing—_oh my God_.

They're words she wrote. _The_ words. The song she wrote for him and accidentally mentioned while she was drunk—the song she meant to burn with a lighter, except she couldn't find one.

_Let's do something stupid,_

_Get out of here and have some fun—_

_This town is too small,_

_And we won't always be young._

_Oh, I know it's foolishness_

_To fall for your rough charm—_

_My brain says you're danger,_

_My heart asks, where's the harm?_

_Take my hand and smile,_

_Help me forget, just for awhile,_

_How much my life blows._

_Let's forget how this is wrong—_

_We can't deny it very long—_

_Kiss me, hard and sweet and slow._

He's at her window now, making a face as people lean out of their cars to stare. She remembers how sensitive he is about his guitar-playing hobby and is amazed that he actually had the courage to come out here and do this in front of so many people.

As he sings her words back to her, she senses that he knows the feeling behind them, and—she trembles—shares it. Her face is burning—her whole body burns with embarrassment and fear. She's shaking with suppressed laughter and sobs, both at once, as she gets out of the car to stand in front of him.

_Let's do something stupid:_

_Let's fall in love, me and you._

_We can tell ourselves it won't last,_

_But maybe that won't be true,_

_Maybe you're the one I've sought,_

_The one I was always needing._

_Maybe you'll save me from myself,_

_Stop my wounds from bleeding._

_Take my hand and smile_

_Help me forget, just for awhile,_

_How much my life blows._

_Let's forget what they would say—_

_Screw them, anyway—_

_Kiss me, hard and sweet and slow_.

He plays one last chord, and she leans up and obeys her own words—to cheers and applause from all the spectators, but most of all from her two friends, who are both beaming.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks when the kiss ends.

"Because," he says, "Ginny came to see me this morning and said that if I didn't want to lose you, I'd better, quote, 'get my rear in gear.'"

"How'd you write that song so fast?"

"I didn't," he grins. "You just wrote lyrics that fit really good with this song I've been working on for months."

She's trembling again. "Paul…you understand I can't stay, not now. I live in Seattle. I have a job there."

"Yeah. That's why I'm moving there, too," he says. "Ginny kind of decided that for me. Says I need to get a life and a job and stop screwing around. Last week I would've said screw _her_, but now I think maybe she's right."

"Then…maybe we can…I mean…if you promise not to…"

"Uh-huh," Paul says, and kisses her again.

"So," she says after awhile, "it was a bet, huh?"

"Oh, geez." He groans. "Jared…."

"Yup, he blew your cover." She laughs, and he looks relieved. "You little bastard…it's just like something you would do."

"Thanks." He actually sounds proud of himself. "Oh, and just so you know…I'm a werewolf."

"Oh, I know _that_," Rachel says. "I've known for years. It won't be a problem, will it?"

Paul looks nonplussed, but says, "Uh, no, it won't be a problem. I'm quitting the pack, anyway, 'cause if I don't your brother might bite my head off."

"Good," says Rachel.

This time, when she drives away, she's laughing and blowing a kiss out the window. This parting is a million times better than the other, because it's not an ending—it's a promise.


	18. 17: Emily

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Emily**

Emily is sitting up in a hospital bed, staring into the hand mirror that she asked Sue Clearwater to bring her.

They didn't want to show her what she looked like, at first. They told her it would be too emotionally traumatizing. But Emily insisted.

Maybe it's the painkillers in her bloodstream, but she doesn't feel as horrified as she should at the sight of her mangled face. Just…numb. And a bit bemused. It's fascinating to look into this face that is hers and yet so very, very _not_ hers.

The scars will heal, of course. She won't always look like Frankenstein's monster, with little black stitches punctuating the swollen, angry-red gashes. But there's no denying she'll never look the same as she did two days ago—before Sam turned into a wolf before her very eyes, and nearly killed her.

Part of her wants to be shocked, but another part finally understands. All those years, little things that added up into an unsolved mystery. The way Sam and Leah treat their friends sometimes, like servants or subordinates; the faint smell of wet dog in some parts of the house, even though the couple never had pets; the way they'd randomly disappear for hours on end, with no explanation. And those unasked questions and unspoken truths that hang between the members of the Quileute tribe, as carefully guarded as their people's heritage… in a way, it _is _their heritage. The rez is so small, _everyone_ must have a family member or friend in Sam and Leah's pack.

_Why didn't they tell me? _Emily wonders. _All those years… I was as good as family, even if Sue's only my mother's cousin. What'll they tell me now? That they forgot? Are they still going to deny it?_

Sue hasn't said anything yet, other than the requisite concern for Emily's health. As Em's closest emergency contact, Sue was called to the hospital as soon as her condition stabilized. She's the only visitor so far. Leah and Sam are long gone; Rennie called to find out if she was okay, but all the werewolves seem to be avoiding her.

"Knock knock," says a male voice at the door.

Emily lays down the mirror. "Come in," she says hoarsely.

Angela Weber pushes back the curtain that encloses her bed in privacy. Behind her is Mike Newton, holding a vase of brightly colored flowers.

"Oh," Angela gasps, putting her hand to her mouth. "Oh, Emily, I'm so sorry."

Em closes her eyes. She is grateful for Angela's sympathy, but at the same time abhors it. Now all people will see when they look at her are the scars. They'll never see _her_ again.

"Embry told us what happened," Angela adds. "You know, about the rabid dog that attacked you?" She winks and tips her head toward Mike.

_Of course. Rabid dogs. I should have known_, Emily thinks. _What did I expect them to tell people? That I was clawed by a werewolf?_

"He said to say sorry for not visiting, by the way," Angela says. "Embry, that is. We're all in a bit of an uproar—it looks like Sam and Leah have run off."

_But not together, I bet_.

"Is Claire all right?" Emily asks.

"Sue's babysitting her, but her mom's coming down today." Angela nibbles on her thumbnail, then lowers her voice. "I have a lot to tell you. The boys are kinda busy, so they said I could… but, um, we'll have to wait until later." She glances significantly at Mike, who raises his eyebrows. "Right now Mike wants to talk to you _alone_, so I'll just…"

She disappears behind the curtain, and they hear her footsteps retreating to the hall.

Mike clears his throat in the sudden silence and shrugs awkwardly. "I brought you some flowers."

Emily tries to smile. It hurts. "Thank you. They're pretty." Suddenly she wishes that the nurse had left the bandages on after all. Mike will never want to see her again after this.

He sets them down on her bedside table and gestures to the edge of her bed. "Can I?"

She nods; he sits.

"I just came here to tell you," he mumbles, looking into her eyes, then away, then back—"that, um, to tell you that I still want to come fishing with you in Neah Bay. I mean, someday. If you want. And if you're ever in Portland for some reason, well, uh, you have my number."

Emily can't smile, so she squeezes his hand instead. He looks nervously down at their clasped hands, and then a warm smile lights up his boyish face. "You'll call me, then?"

"I'll call you," she says, wincing as the words pull at her stitches. Then, because that's not enough, she adds, "_Thank you_."

He blushes. "I, uh, you're welcome… Angela wanted to talk to you. I'll go get her." He exits hastily, flushed and looking pleased.

***

Emily's out of the hospital by Thursday. Sue makes her a lovely welcome-home dinner that she can hardly eat with her lip twisted up in a scarred grimace; Emily's mother calls and cries into the phone. Emily cries too, even though she's not really that sad.

Sam resurfaces halfway through the week at Jared and Paul's. Now that Angela's explained about the pack to Emily, Seth has no problem telling her that they've unanimously demoted him from pack leadership. He's crashing on Granddad Whitehorse's living room couch until Paul moves out. For some reason, he refuses to go back to the house he shared with Leah.

Leah, meanwhile, is gone without a trace. The pack can't get a scent, since she was in a car when she left.

Emily does a lot of thinking in the next few days, when she's not staring into the vanity mirror in Sue's guest room getting to know her new face. Finally, the day before she leaves—the day she gets her stitches out—she picks up her purse, grabs the keys to her car, and tells Sue she's going for a walk on the beach.

She doesn't, though. She drives instead to Granddad Whitehorse's, and, before she can talk herself out of it, knocks on the door.

Granddad answers the door, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "You're Miss Young," he says right away. He'll have been told about the scars, then.

"Yes, that's me." Emily clutches her purse nervously. "I've come to see Sam. Is he still here?"

Granddad frowns. "He's in the other room watching television. While you're here, tell him to move his sorry behind into the shed already. I'm tired of watching him brood on my couch."

"I heard that," says Sam's voice, and Emily freezes up for a moment. His voice is so familiar, but the note of despair makes him sound like a stranger. "Reception's better in here. Who's that? Is it Embry again?"

Emily makes an apologetic face at Granddad and follows the voice into the next room.

Sam's sitting on the couch, staring at the TV set. Emily sees over his shoulder that he's watching sports. There's a blanket around his shoulders. His hair is gross and unwashed, and he looks extremely unhealthy, like he's been starving himself.

He turns to glance at her, still thinking she's one of his pack, and the glance turns into a double take, which turns into a stare.

"Are you really there?" he says at last.

"Um," Emily says, thinking how bad of an idea this was, "yes?"

He starts to his feet, so suddenly that she jumps. "A hallucination would say that, too," he says.

"Do you hallucinate me a lot?" Emily asks dryly.

"Oh, Em." He shakes his head, looking away. "You're in my dreams every night, telling me how much of a pathetic loser I am. How much I deserve to go to hell. I don't even know what's real anymore—what parts of that are you and what parts are my own conscience."

"God, Sam," she says, putting her purse down, "eat something, lay off the alcohol, and get a decent night's sleep. And while you're at it, take a shower."

He paws at his hair, which doesn't do it any favors.

She feels bad, then, and starts over. "I didn't come here to condemn you," she says softly, "or to criticize you, or make you feel worse. I came here to forgive you, actually."

Sam looks back at her, and through the mire of self-pity she sees a glimmer of hope in his face.

"You were right," she says, fiddling with a button on her jacket. "I felt it, too. I always have. In another life, maybe, you and I were meant for each other. But not this one."

He waits.

"I've seen your world," she forges on. "I know the truth about you now, you and your pack. Angela explained everything. I know all about you, everything you hid from me for almost ten years… and, Sam, I want nothing to do with it."

He bows his head.

"I need stability," she says. "I need safety. I need someone who is the same person all the time and doesn't randomly turn into a wolf and rip things to shreds. So I'm going to go home tomorrow, and I don't want to see you again. I love you dearly, Sam, you and Leah both, but I can't be around you anymore. And that means…I guess I also came to say goodbye." She steps forward, reaches out to shake his hand.

He falls to his knees in front of her. "Oh, Emily," he says, and his shoulders shake with convulsive sobs. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I know," she says, kneeling beside him. "I forgave you, remember?"

"You're still beautiful," he mumbles, tracing one of the scars with his thumb. She shies away from his hand.

"Goodbye, Sam Uley," she says, kissing him on the forehead and rising to go.

***

When Emily Young marries Mike Newton two years later, it's the happiest day of her life.

Her groom grins at her as she walks down the aisle. She's nervous, blushing, her scars almost hidden by her veil. As soon as she catches his eye, though, she can see nothing else but him.

Which is a good thing, maybe, because in the back row, an uninvited guest is sitting forward in his seat, watching through a veil of his newly-grown-out hair—and _he_ can see only her.


	19. 18: Sam

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Sam**

When he catches her scent—_finally_, after two weeks of waiting—he knows it's now or never.

He gets to their house just as she's shoving a final box into the back of her already-full car. She scents him, then, and lifts her head, scanning the forest with narrowed eyes.

He's downwind of her, though, and manages to sneak up on her, using her car as a shield between them. When he pins her against it, she's caught unaware, but recovers quickly and struggles hard.

"Stop it," Sam growls in Leah's ear. "I just want to talk to you."

"I won't talk to you." She turns her face away.

"Then I'll talk, and you'll listen." He loosens his grip for an instant; she shoves him back and phases, running into the woods.

He phases too, regardless of the clothes he's just shredded, and follows her. _Leah, Leah_, he calls in his mind.

_An appropriate name_, she retorts. _The unwanted woman. 'Leah was tender eyed, but Rachel was beautiful and well favored…and Jacob loved Rachel more than Leah.' That's all I am, then, the first wife you didn't love as much_.

_Since when have you been reading the Bible?_ Sam retorts.

_I've been trying to find meaning in life again_.

_Leah, will you just listen to me for five seconds?_

_Why? So you can lie to me, or so I can congratulate you on your remarriage? How much divorce paperwork do you want me to sign?_

_She turned me down, Lee._

_Can't imagine why._

_It doesn't matter. I was drunk. Crazy. I never should have done what I did. Leah, you're my wife, and you're the one I love. Come back to me_.

She phases back suddenly, thrusting him out of her mind. He hurries to do the same, and the two face each other, stark naked and barefoot in the middle of the forest.

"Why should I?" Leah asks, her voice low with fury. "Why should I, Sam, huh? You're probably better off with her anyway—she's not so bitchy and she can actually cook and she can have your babies. Why the hell would you want me when you can have her?"

Sam steps closer to her. She shivers, but doesn't back down.

"I love you," he says softly, meaning it. "Whatever I felt for her, it wasn't the same. You're the woman I married, Leah. I know everything about you." He takes another step. Now they're inches apart. "I know you secretly wish you could have kids, even though you tell me all the time that you're glad you can't. I know you have a mole _here_—" he brushes a spot on the small of her back—"and I know you make the sexiest little sounds when I kiss you _here_." His thumb touches a place on her neck. "I know you're _proud_ of the fact you can't cook, because it makes you not a housewife, and I know that you're beautiful and sexy, even when you're bitching at me. I know you're a great pack leader and would be a great mother. I know that I want to have you making snide remarks about my flabby butt when I'm ninety years old and can hardly walk anymore."

She glares at him. "You're trying to seduce me."

"And you're responding." He trails his hand down her side, feather-light. "Seven years, and you still think I'm hot."

"In your dreams, Samuel Uley." But he can tell she's breathing harder, and a pulse is fluttering in her neck.

He pulls her forward so their bodies are touching, from chest all the way down to thigh. "Leah Uley… do you still want that divorce?"

"I—"

"How about now?" His hand trails down. She gasps.

"Sam, oh GOD! Stop it, stop…ohhh…"

"I love you," he says again, as she writhes in his arms, "and I swear I'll spend the rest of my life convincing you. You'll never doubt again, I promise. Only don't leave me, Leah."

"This—isn't—fair—" she whimpers.

"Promise you'll never leave again. I've been a mess ever since you left—can barely function without you, my sexy, wonderful wife." She moans as his breath brushes her ear, his voice low and growly. She's never been able to resist it. "Say it. Say you'll stay."

"I'll stay! I'll stay!" She clutches at his shoulders, digging her nails in. "Now for the love of God, Sam, stop tormenting me."

"If you insist." He backs her against a tree and kisses her with all his heart as she wraps her legs around him.

As they make love—messily, desperately, their skin scratched with pine needles and briars—he notices that she is crying. He kisses the tears off her face, and she confesses, almost inaudibly: "I never stopped loving you."

"Good," he says, in between kissing her. "Don't ever stop."

***

Jared groans. "Do I really have to do this, Paul?"

"I won the bet. You'd better do it."

"I hate you."

Paul grins. They both had thought the bet was off when Leah skipped town, but now that she's back—and fighting with Sam in the forest—the opportunity's perfect.

"They're just up ahead," Paul hisses. "Go, go! And speak loudly so I can hear you."

Jared stumbles in on the couple completely naked, lying in a satisfied jumble of limbs on the forest floor. He groans. The timing couldn't be worse.

"Bow chicka wow wow," he says, defeated. "Leah, girl, you got one hot booty."

Leah lifts her head to look at him. Sam looks from his wife to Jared and back. Then the pair of them get to all fours and phase—and leap at Jared.

He has just enough time to phase himself before they jump him and are beating the crap out of him in earnest.

Paul runs like the wind, laughing his head off the whole way home.

***

Even though Leah's back, Sam's demotion still stands. Jacob's the alpha now, with wolf girl Rennie at his side… and so Leah and Sam make the difficult decision to leave La Push. They move to a Seattle suburb across the Sound and quit phasing for good, which allows both of them get permanent jobs. Leah is never able to have children, but she does eventually agree to adopt two foster kids, Amelia and Dylan. Sam spoils both of them horribly, and they grow to love him—but right from the start, both are attached to Leah.

Sam does attend Emily's wedding without telling Leah, but mostly to avoid opening old wounds. He stays only for the service and sneaks out right after. The bride and groom don't notice him, and that's the way he wants it.

He drives three hours home from Portland, parks in the driveway of their small house, and scratches their golden retriever, Buffy, on the way in.

When he comes into the kitchen, Amy shows him a watercolor painting she did today, and Dylan hugs him, leaving floury handprints on his shirt.

"I made cookies!" he announces.

"Really?" Sam says. "Did you help Mom not burn them?"

"Quiet, you," Leah says, hands on hips.

He goes over and takes her in his arms. "I love you, Lee," he tells her, meaning it with all his heart. She laughs and closes her eyes as he kisses the flecks of flour off her face, and the kids groan about how icky they are.

_This is where I belong_, Sam thinks, and lets go of Emily for the last time.


	20. 19: Embry

**Dancing in the Dark**

**19. Embry**

"You could maybe take her out to dinner and have the waiter drop the ring in her champagne glass," Quil suggests.

"No, dude. She doesn't drink. And anyway, that's been done before. I wanna do something special."

Quil yawns. "You're askin' the wrong guy. I can't even talk to girls, let alone plan how to ask one to marry me. You need to ask a girl to help you with this crap."

"But who?" Embry says miserably. Angela is the rez's sole wolf girl, their usual consultant about feminine mysteries—but he can't very well ask her to plan her own marriage proposal. Leah and Sam left yesterday, and anyway, Leah is not exactly the world's most girly girl. When Sam asked her, he just looked at her and went, "Marry me?" and she said, "Duh!"

"I dunno." Then Quil brightens up. "Hey! Why don't you ask Rennie? She's sort of the new Leah, and I bet she's into all the girly stuff."

"Uh…" Truth be told, Embry is a little bit scared of Rennie. They all are; it's not every day, after all, that a half-vampire with weird psychic powers shows up on the rez and gets Jacob, Mr. Heartbreak Hotel, to fall in love with her.

"No, seriously. She's cool. I mean, she saved Emily Young's life, right?" That story is all over by now, more than a little embellished—how Jacob and Rennie braved the scene of a legendary Sam-and-Leah fight to call 911 and keep Emily from bleeding to death.

"Well, okay." Embry is desperate. "Besides, she owes me one—I told her all that stuff about Jacob, so she could plan a date with him."

"Yeah!" Quil gives him an encouraging wave of the hand. "They're in Jake's room right now."

Embry hesitates.

"Don't worry," Quil says, rolling his eyes. "I know for a fact they're not doing the nasty. She's _seven_."

Somewhat comforted—but not entirely—Embry makes his way down the hall to rap on Jake's bedroom door.

"What?" Jake growls from within. Embry flashes back to the old days of Jacob brooding by himself, and wonders just how much of him Rennie is going to be able to change.

Then the door opens, and Rennie is standing there, smiling serenely. "Embry? Do you want to talk to Jacob?"

Embry shakes his head. "I want to, uh, to talk to you, actually."

"Oh. Really? What about?"

"Well, I'm—I'm trying to plan how to propose to my girlfriend," Embry admits, feeling stupid now. "Shut up laughing, Jake!—and I want to do something romantic, but I can't think of anything, and I thought I'd ask you 'cause you might know what chicks like."

Rennie laughs, not unkindly. "Of course! C'mere, sit down, and tell me what kinds of things Angela likes."

***

"Where are we going?" Angela asks curiously, after she's kissed Embry hello and buckled her seatbelt.

"You'll see." His heart thumps out a nervous rhythm, and he forces himself not to touch the ring in his pocket again. He's pretty sure she'll say yes, but there's always the possibility that she might turn him down. The thought of living without her scares him more than anything else.

She leans over and switches the station to a best-of-the-eighties station. It's halfway through the song "Flashdance." Angela starts to sing along, and Embry can't help grinning to himself. There's no doubt in his mind he wants her around forever—her and her eighties obsession, her kindergarten-teaching anecdotes, her glasses and shy smile and quiet intelligence. Thinking about her gives him courage, and he turns his eyes back to the road.

They pull into their first stop of the night: First Beach.

"The beach at sunset? How romantic," Angela teases. He makes a face at her and leads her down to the sand.

They walk a little way down the beach, to the burned-out driftwood pile where everyone always has bonfires. "This," Embry announces, feeling a bit silly, "is where we first met. Remember? I was, like, fourteen, and you had a crush on that Ben kid, and we hung out here with a bunch of our friends on a Saturday afternoon…"

"I remember," Angela says softly. Then she giggles. "I thought you were kind of cute for a freshman."

He puts part of his coat around her and they cuddle together on a piece of driftwood, reminiscing about the old days—the days before he was a werewolf, the days when she was just a normal high school girl.

After awhile, he pulls her up. "C'mon."

"Wait, what? We're going somewhere else?"

"Yeah!" He grins. "Just go with it, okay?"

"All right, sure." She gets back in the car.

They drive only a short way this time, to a darkened house. Embry called earlier to get permission from the owners—friends of his dad's—and they promised to lay low.

"This looks familiar," Angela whispers. "Is this…?"

"This is where we met the second time," he says.

"Oh, I get it," she laughs. "I see what you're doing. Nice."

He puts his fingers over her mouth. "We both ended up at that stupid Halloween party, Lord knows how…you dressed as Marilyn Monroe and got so cold in that dress that you didn't mind me putting my hands all over you on the first date."

"Shut up!" She smacks him. "You did not. You were a gentleman."

"A gentleman dressed like a pillaging, murdering pirate?"

"The blacked-out teeth were really attractive."

"Remember at midnight, when everyone else was rip-roaring drunk and we came out here under the trees to talk… and you looked up at the full moon and said it was a werewolf moon…."

"And you kissed me out of nowhere," she finishes. "It took me _years_ to figure out why that comment touched a nerve."

"It was the only way I could think of to get you to stop thinking," Embry says.

She leans across the cab of his pickup and grabs him by the front of the shirt. "Come here, you."

They make out for a long, long time. By the time Embry remembers to pull away, it's completely dark.

"Still works," Angela murmurs, laughing a ragged little laugh. "I mean, the stop-thinking part."

"Same," Embry says, trying to get a grip on himself. "You made me forget about the rest of our date."

"Mmm, there's more?"

"No, let's just kiss some more." He tries to lunge across the cab and grab her; she shies away, snorting a laugh.

"No, no! I wanna see what you had planned. This should be good."

"Fine," he says, faking insult. "I guess I can take a hint."

He takes her, in succession, to the restaurant they went on their first date (they order ice cream while they reminisce); to the front steps of her kindergarten, where he first told her he was a werewolf; to the Wolf, the scene of their first fight, and the place where he was standing when she came in to say "I'm sorry" the next day.

Finally, he stops outside her father's church and goes around the truck to open her door for her.

"All right," she says, by now having caught on to the game. "What did we do here?"

"Nothing, yet," he says. "But—" deep breath—"I was hoping that, in the near future, we'd get married here."

He hears her gasp. Sees the streetlights sparkling off the tears in her eyes. Knowing he's right, he goes down on one knee and pulls out the ring. "Angela Weber, will you marry me?"

She kneels down, too, so she can throw her arms around him. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

She's bawling, and he's laughing, and they're kissing… and then the doors to the church burst open, light floods the street, and Quil shouts, "She said yes!"

Angela shrieks in surprise and joy as she recognizes her friends and family, who've been hiding inside, as well as most of the pack—and Rennie, who of course arranged the whole thing.

"Embry," she laughs, looking up at him adoringly, "did you plan all this yourself?"

He grins and says, "Of course I did."


	21. 20: Jacob

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Jacob**

"I can't do this," Jacob whispers, crushing Rennie's hand. "Please don't make me do this."

"You have to," Rennie says softly. "I will not make you, but sooner or later you know you must."

He looks at her, the old torture in his eyes. Responding to his silent plea for help, she puts her hands on either side of his face and pours reassurance into him—_have faith in them. Have faith in me. Have faith in yourself, dear one_.

When she takes her hands away, he shudders a sigh and says, "All right, let's do this."

They slowly walk hand in hand up the landscaped path, to knock on the front door of Carlisle and Esme Cullen's Alaska house.

The whole coven is assembled for Rennie's delayed homecoming. When the door swings open, they're standing there in pairs, just as Jacob remembers them: beautiful Rosalie and hulking Emmett; weird Alice and weirder Jasper; sweet Esme and professional Carlisle; and, last, his eyes fall on Edward and Bella.

They haven't changed. Of course not. Jacob still feels residual resentment toward Edward for all the things the vamp took from him when they were younger: the woman he loved, his very _humanity_. He has to remind himself that, painful as those losses were, they gained him an eternity with Rennie—who could not exist, except for Edward.

And Bella…

Oh, Bella.

She's even more beautiful than she once was. Smiling nervously, her hand on Edward's arm—for a moment, he wants to turn around and run. He still loves her. How could he not?

She comes forward, then, and embraces Rennie. "My baby," she says, and with that, transforms completely from his old teenage crush into a maternal adult. He isn't sure where to look. Rennie must be sending Bella mind-pictures, because they embrace for much longer than is normal.

When Bella finally pulls away, she comes to stand before Jacob, looking up at him. The tension in the room mounts as all the vampires stop breathing.

"Jake, I'm so glad," Bella says finally. "I'm so glad Rennie found you."

And he can't help it. He grabs her up, just like he used to, right off her feet in a bruising bear-hug. "I'm sorry, Bella." He has no idea why he's apologizing—she, after all, was the one who left—but it feels like the right thing to do.

She buries her face in his shoulder. No doubt he smells as awful to her as she does to him, but that can (and must) be ignored in this moment.

"I'm sorry, too," she murmurs finally. "It wasn't fair to you. Now will you please put me down?"

He does so, chuckling a little because it's so like something the old Bella would have said. And just like that, the tension is broken. Esme tells them that there's chocolate mousse pie in the kitchen (Alice smiles and says she predicted that Rennie would be craving chocolate). Edward and Emmett take Jacob aside and threaten him within an inch of his life if he should ever hurt Rennie, and then clap him on the back so hard he has trouble breathing for the next ten minutes. The second Jake opens his mouth to tell a blonde joke, Rosalie starts telling werewolf jokes.

To Jacob's neverending shock, he actually _enjoys_ the afternoon.

***

They stay only one night, because Jake isn't _that_ comfortable with the vamps yet. Edward very reluctantly allows them to stay in the same room, but only because he will be listening to Jacob's thoughts through the walls.

"You did well," Rennie says affectionately, cuddling against him in these ridiculous Hello Kitty pajamas. Apparently her uncle Emmett gave them to her when she was four (or, physically, twelve) and has never got around to replacing them.

"It was hard," he admits, tracing patterns on the ceiling with his eyes. Her cool body is comforting against his side. It's the first time they've slept the night in the same bed.

Rennie wriggles in the curve of his arm, turning so she can look into his face. "Tell me," she commands.

He can't _imagine_ vocalizing his thoughts. Instead, he tilts her chin up to kiss her, and opens up his mind.

They've only done this a few times since the first. It's not a thing you do all the time, sharing your thoughts with someone—it's incredibly intimate. They kiss on the cheek instead, and forehead and eyes and nose. Sometimes, in a moment of old-fashioned chivalry, he kisses her hands.

So when they kiss on the mouth, it's a rare pleasure, despite the naked feeling of having someone else in your mind. Rennie melts into the kiss, closing her eyes as his thoughts meld with her own.

_I'm so sorry_, he tells her, through feelings and images. _I still love Bella. I think I always will._

_That's okay_, she replies. _I have time to change your mind_.

Jacob sighs his gratitude against her lips. _I don't deserve you_.

"Dear Jacob," she says, breaking the connection to stroke his face, "you deserve whatever makes you happy."

***

They take their time, because they have _all_ of time. Though they're a firm couple from the start, it doesn't become truly romantic until Rennie is twelve years old, and they wait to make love until she is sixteen.

They marry when she is eighteen, almost eleven years after meeting. Jacob is thirty-six, but doesn't look a day over twenty-five at his wedding. It's a strange event all around, with few humans invited. The whole original pack shows, even the retired ones like Sam and Leah; and vampires from all around the world come to wish Rennie well.

Most conspicuous, though, is the bride's family—her maternal grandfather looks ancient next to her immortal paternal grandparents, and her aunts, allowed to play bridesmaid, look like her sisters. Her parents, Forks's pair of live-in vampires, look just as they did in the Forks High School senior class photo, more than eighteen years ago. They moved back not long after Rennie made her stay in La Push a permanent one, to be closer to their daughter.

At the end of the ceremony, the bride and groom kiss on the mouth, and all who witness it—even those who have witnessed more than the usual amount of kisses in their immortal lifetimes—later say that it was, indeed, the most romantic they have ever seen, though no one but Edward can understand why.

When toasting his new bride at the reception, Jacob affectionately calls her by a new nickname—one, he threatens, that only he is allowed to call her:

Nessie.


	22. 21: Seth

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Seth**

"No. Way." Collin's face is a mix of disgust and horror.

"Yes way," says Jacob calmly. "It's settled already. Bella and Edward are moving in later this week. If we want Rennie around, we're going to have to deal with live-in vampires again."

If Paul were here, he would have challenged the assumption that the whole pack actually _does_ want Rennie here. But Paul's gone. And anyway, much as they hate to admit it, the guys actually do like having Rennie around—especially Embry, who feels indebted to her forever for helping him sweep Angela completely off her feet.

"Jake, that's a bad idea," says Jared. "We'll have teenagers popping out in fur all over the place before the year's out. Remember how it was last time?"

"Oh, believe me, I remember," says Jacob, giving Jared a meaningful look, "but, you know, it might not be such a bad thing at this point."

Seth glances around the circle. He can see Jacob's point. Sam and Leah, their strong Alpha and Beta, are gone already, and Paul and Quil, two of their best fighters, have quit. Embry is still here, but everyone knows that as soon as he and Angela tie the knot, he'll stop phasing and resign from the pack, too. That leaves them with five pack members: Jake in the position of Alpha, Seth as the new Beta, Jared, Collin, and Brady.

If more kids don't phase soon, they're going to go the same way as their grandfathers' pack—some choosing to give up the spirit wolf to live a human life, others killed in battle, until there are no more of them left. It's a bleak view of the future, but also, Seth is sure, an accurate one.

"I agree with Jake," he speaks up finally. "We're down four men, and who knows who else we'll lose? We need new blood."

He's not _consciously_ thinking of Liz when he says it, but she's there, in the back of his mind. He knows it's unlikely she'll ever phase; even if the gene is in her blood, which it most likely is since her brother is in the pack, there's only ever been one female werewolf.

But, for her sake, he can't help hoping.

"I still don't like it," Collin says, shaking his head. "Vamps on the rez? Next our land'll be open to any old leech who feels like a snack."

"This is different," Jacob replies. "We know Edward and Bella. _I_ know them. And anyway, I'm not asking you guys—I'm _telling_ you. They're moving in. You will tolerate them."

As the pack meeting breaks up, Brady mutters, "I think we should call Leah."

"Why?" Seth hears Jared ask.

"Because I think Sam died, and Jake's being possessed by his spirit."

The guys snort a laugh, but Seth feels a surge of pride. His friend has stepped into the Alpha's shoes better than any of them had expected… and he's chosen Seth as his Beta.

Seth straightens his back and resolves to help Jake the best he can, no matter who shows up on the rez… and no matter which new kids phase.

***

It starts with Chris, a quiet, smart kid just shy of his fifteenth birthday.

Six months after Edward and Bella move in, he gets in a fight with his father about college, and the next thing they know, the whole pack's out trying to restrain the poor confused guy and explain to him why he now has a tail.

A couple months after Chris, it's Hawk, an older guy—almost eighteen—from the shady side of the rez. They have to hunt him for several hours, and fight him for a few more, before they can calm him down.

After him is Greg, and then Vin. In no time at all, their numbers are back up, and the pack's blood is running hot. Seth and Jake have to rein in the newbies from all but sending invitations out to vamps, to bring in more hunting quarries.

Then, it stops. For six months, then a year, then two, no one phases.

Liz turns eighteen, but Seth forgets. In his defense, a particularly nasty vamp shows up that week, and they're all out trying to corner the thing. When Jared mentions it a week later, he figures it would seem stupid to show up with a birthday present this late. Anyway, she's probably got a boyfriend now. Teenage crushes never last long.

It sort of hurts to think this, but he convinces himself it's the truth.

***

Just past midnight, the phone rings.

Seth fumbles for it. "What?" he rasps.

It's Jacob. "We got another one, Seth. He's going crazy out there—the howls woke me up, and you know how _I _sleep. Meet me in five?"

"Ugh. Whatever." Seth hangs up, considers going back to sleep, then remembers that he is the Beta wolf and, as such, has to be a Responsible Leader.

He gets out of bed—well, falls out—and walks out into the backyard without a stitch on. Figures he won't need pants; last time, Vin ripped his good pair off his leg and shredded them.

Seth shudders into wolf form.

Immediately, he hears Jacob trying to calm down the newbie. _Listen to me_. Listen. _You're a werewolf, okay? You've phased. We're here for you. Just calm down and we'll explain it to you. I need you to calm down._

_I know I'm a werewolf, idiot, _the newbie says witheringly. _That's not why I'm mad. _He's close to them now; he can see that the black wolf's got too-long fur. Lots of guys grow their hair out on the rez, but somehow this one just _looks_ like a girl. And her voice… _God, why didn't he even call? No visit, no email, not even an I'm-sorry-but-I-think-we-should-just-be-friends letter. Bastard!_

_Oh, lord. _Seth cautiously approaches the newbie. _Liz?_

_Seth Clearwater? Oh, my God, I am going to kill you! _The black she-wolf leaps at him, artless in her battle techniques. He pins her in an instant.

_I'm eighteen now, in case you hadn't noticed_, she snarls, struggling. _Or were all those promises for nothing?_

_Seth? What the hell? Have you been messing with my sister?_ Oh no—Jared.

_Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Heh. Nice going, bro_. Brady, too.

Seth sets his teeth into her scruff, asserting his dominance. _Liz, we need you to calm down so we can explain some stuff to you_.

_Seems pretty straightforward to me. Ears, snout, tail, teeth, claws. And mind-reading. You told me most of it before. What I want to know is why haven't you even _called_ me?_

_I… thought you wouldn't want me to._

_Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I wanted?_

_I'm a coward, _he says, releasing her._ I'm sorry. Will it help if I let you beat me up?_

He senses confusion in her mind—a draining away of the pent-up frustration and anger of two years of separation—and all of a sudden, she's a girl again, naked and vulnerable.

Immediately, he returns to human form—and then remembers he's forgotten pants. _Crap_.

She doesn't even try not to stare. "So that's it, huh?" she murmurs distractedly. "That's what it's like?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Were you expecting more?"

"You didn't tell me I would get so angry," she murmurs. "And so _hot_."

He knows every word she says is damning him more. Jake is going to kick his tail to Seattle and back for telling her this stuff before she phased. But he doesn't really care; seeing her again reminds him how beautiful she is, how much he likes her. "I told you we run a constant temperature," he says.

"Did you?" She climbs to her feet, hands defiantly on her hips. He has a hard time keeping his eyes on her face. "I think I was a little distracted at that point."

Jared phases back at that point to say, "Uh, Clearwater, mind telling me exactly _how_ you were distracting my baby sister?"

Seth clears his throat. "Maybe we ought to talk about this in the daytime," he suggests. "With our clothes on."

"F that," Liz says. And, with all the energy of a first-phase werewolf, she bounds forward, pounces on him, and kisses him.

It is the absolute _last _way Seth would have rekindled the spark of their mutual attraction. Half the pack, including Liz's _brother_, is watching, and there's no way in the _world_ that a naked kiss could look innocent to anyone. Given his choice, he would have taken her out to dinner. Bought her flowers. Maybe, _mayb_e, given her a chaste kiss good-night.

But she's having none of that.

And, for one insane moment, he's sort of glad.

***

After Seth recovers from the severe beating Jared gives him, and the strongly worded lecture from Jake, he does take Liz out to dinner. This progresses to long walks on the beach and runs together in the forest after dark, which turns into making out in his truck, which turns into sneaking her out of his room at six in the morning. Though his mom doesn't really hassle him (knowing that he sometimes meets Charlie Swan in the hall bathroom, if he gets up early enough), after she catches them for the third time, he decides that maybe it's time to move out.

When Jared beats him up for the third time for thinking Inappropriate Things about his baby sister, he decides that maybe it's time to think about asking Liz to marry him.

So naturally, before he's thought it through well enough, it pops out in the middle of dismembering a vampire. "Marry me?" he shouts.

And, before ripping the vampire's arm off, she says, "Duh!"


	23. 22: Jared

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Jared**

The excitement is mostly over, and Jared finds, with some surprise, that life is basically the same as it used to be.

Sure, his sister is now a werewolf, and she's got some kind of _thing_ going on with Clearwater, which he does not want to listen to either of them thinking about. There're new pack members to chase around, too. But despite now being the most senior member of the pack, he is neither Alpha nor Beta. He's just _there_.

It kind of sucks.

He still lives in his granddad's garage, without a roommate now. When the newbies were bored, he had them try out their new superhuman strength by "helping" him fix it up so it's less of a dump. (They did all the work; he just supplied the pizza and Coke.)

He hangs out with Collin and Brady a lot nowadays. Jake is boring now that he's got pack responsibilities and a girlfriend; and he wouldn't hang out with Seth, who's banging his sister, if he got paid to do it. The pack's dynamic duo is well on its way to replacing Paul as resident womanizer, though they may have to share the distinction, as it's hard to tell which of them has fewer morals.

Life falls into routine again. He works at the Wolf when he needs money, runs with the pack when he's asked to, and in between he watches a lot of lame TV. Sometimes he thinks about quitting the pack, moving away, getting a job—but he can't really be bothered.

And then, quite without warning, someone knocks on his door one April morning as he steps out of the shower.

***

_If that's Collin, I'm going to_ murder _him_. Grumbling darkly, Jared wraps the towel around his waist, feeling the cooling water dripping down uncomfortably to puddle on the floor. _This had better be good_.

He flings open the door. "What do you want—? Oh _hell_." It's not one of the pack members standing on his doorstep. It's a woman. A familiar woman—the one he's thought about, off and on, since the day he last saw her.

Kim Connweller.

"Uh," he says, looking down at himself. "Sorry. I sort of… just got out of the shower."

"I noticed," she says, shifting awkardly. "Do you want to go get some clothes on? I can wait."

"Uh, yeah. Come in. Living room's through there." It's more of a closet with a TV, but it's got a couch and it's relatively clean. Jared flees back to the bathroom.

He returns in record-short time, wearing jeans and a t-shirt but still wet-haired and barefoot. Kim is going through a large shoulder bag that he didn't notice before, her hair obscuring her face. He stops short in the doorway to admire the picture she makes, her bright-flowered sundress riding high on a set of truly great legs. She doesn't need to worry about _creating _art—the girl _is_ art.

She looks up, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Hey, Jared. I'm really sorry for barging in like this. I should have called first."

"No, it's okay." _I think_. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Mmm." She scoots over on the couch to give him room to sit. "I'm visiting my parents. Couldn't take another weekend sitting in my apartment watching _The Bachelorette_."

"How is Derek?" Jared asks carefully, already guessing the answer. If Derek was still around, he wouldn't let her sit alone watching trashy reality TV on the weekend.

She presses her lips into a thin line before saying, "I don't know. I haven't seen him in, like, a year." When he doesn't answer, she clarifies, "We broke up about a year and a half ago, and then he moved to Dallas."

"Oh." Jared can't think of anything appropriate to say, so instead he blurts out, "Why are you here?"

"I have something to give you," she says, indicating the bag.

"Can I—?" When she nods permission, he drags it toward him and takes out… a painting.

It's done on cheap craft-store paper in watercolors, but it takes his breath away. It's _him_, pre-phase, to the very life—the grinning, popular kid he's almost forgotten that he once was.

"Wow," he mutters. "Did you do this?"

"When I was fifteen," she clarifies. "Over twelve years ago now—God, we're old, eh?" She looks into his face. "Not that you show it. You haven't aged a day since senior year."

He looks away. "Staying young is overrated," he mutters. "You're even better-looking now than you were then."

She touches her cheek, and he feels the heat of her blush. "Thank you," she says shyly. "That's not the only picture, you know."

He looks in the bag again. Another, this time in oil pastels. The proportions are a little off, but it's him playing basketball with three other guys—with a little squinting, he recognizes them as Paul, Jake, and Embry. They all look so young and innocent. It was before any of them had phased.

"Wow," he says again. "I didn't even know… Kim, these are…"

The next one is just a sketch, him on a bench in the schoolyard, with his arm around a faceless girl. Her body is just the suggestion of a shape, but his is shaded and detailed meticulously. He is laughing. Always happy, in every one of Kim's drawings. Never bored, never depressed.

_What have I turned into since then?_

"A man," says Kim solemnly, and he realizes he's spoken aloud. "You were just a boy then. You've grown up. Happens to the best of us, I suppose," with a wry smile.

"There's so much I wish I could do over," he mutters, not really speaking to her—more like thinking aloud. "I should have made more of an effort with Dad, gone to college, maybe. And—I just wish I'd never phased at all."

"Phased?"

He clears his throat, shoving the pictures back into the bag. "Nothing. Sorry. Memories." He pushes it back toward her.

She shakes her head. "They're yours now, I mean, if you want them. If you don't, I understand, it's just—I thought—"

He nods. "I get it. Thanks. These mean a lot. That kid—I don't think there's a lot of him left, nowadays."

"But there is," Kim argues. "You're trying your best to smother him, poor thing, but he's there."

Jared looks at her, and she's in earnest, her eyes wide and honest. Something in him—the old human Jared?—yells at him to say something, because if he doesn't, he's going to lose her forever. Again.

"I should go," she murmurs, standing. "Mom's expecting me for lunch."

"No—wait." He starts to his feet, grabs her wrist. "Listen, do you want to go out tonight? We could—I don't know—have dinner, or…"

The next thing he knows, she's grabbed him by the collar and is kissing him. He's too surprised to do anything but let her.

"Thought you'd never ask," she gasps, turning about eight shades of red. "I'll see you at six."

She's out of the door before Jared has fully recovered, leaving him standing flabbergasted with raspberry lip gloss smeared halfway across his face.

"You know," he announces to no one in particular, "I think there _is_ a God after all."


	24. 23: Quil

**Dancing in the Dark**

**Quil**

It's been way too long since he drove down these familiar roads, but Quil still knows the rez by heart. He grins to himself as the forest leans in over his truck, creating a tunnel of green that whips past in a memory of fur and speed.

He's thirty-five now. Hasn't phased in nearly ten years, so he looks it. He wonders what it'll be like to see the rest of the pack—to see Jake looking exactly the same, while pretty soon Quil will look like his father.

The years have been good to him. He studied engineering in college, got a job at the Boeing company after graduating, and kept himself busy with work. For a couple years he dated a legal secretary, but it didn't work out between them in the end. The other day, he got an invite to her wedding in the mail. She's marrying a pediatrician she met at the gym.

But tonight's wedding is the one that really occupies his thoughts. After a record eleven years of dating, a werewolf is going to marry a vampire/human crossbreed—a union so unique that half of the world's vampire population has invited itself to see if it's true. For good measure, Jake's invited every ex-shapeshifter in known existence—Sam and Leah and their kids, Embry and Angela and theirs, Jared and Kim, Paul and Rachel.

It'll be good to see everyone again. He's gone to Sam and Leah's for dinner a couple times—Dylan and Amelia call him "Uncle Quil"—but he's lost touch with the rest.

Up the old familiar drive to Jake's dad's house, and _whoa_. The place is radically different. Well-tended flower beds, a row of hedges lining the driveway, and the house itself looks like it's been remodeled, or at least the recipient of a fresh coat of paint.

He parks in front of the garage and climbs out of the car, straightening his button-down shirt and slacks. He thought he'd look like an idiot showing up here in work clothes, but if Jake's got flower beds and blue shutters now, he'll have no right to talk.

It's Rennie who answers the door. She looks gorgeous as ever, and not a day older than twenty-one. Quil has to remind himself that, technically, she's only eighteen.

"Come in," she says, smiling. "Jake is just changing out of his work clothes."

"Still a grease monkey at the Wolf, then?"

"Yes! Business is good enough for him that he doesn't need to do the work himself, but he will not listen to me. He says his fingers get twitchy without cars to fix."

"Quil!" Jacob bounds out of the bedroom, belt half-buckled, tie draped around his neck, looking just as disgustingly respectable as Quil does. "Dude, you got _old!_"

They embrace—the awkward, back-thumping kind of man-hug—and then Quil says, "Look at us, man. We're a pair of suits."

"Hey, in my defense, this is all Rennie," Jake says. "I didn't even own this kind of shirt until she started buying my clothes. What's your excuse?"

"Just came from work. I got a desk job in a cubicle, man, can you believe it?"

"Guess that college thing paid off then?" When Quil nods, Jacob thumps his back again. "Good for you. Nice to know that some of us scruffy wolves amounted to something after all."

"Speak for yourself, dude! Rennie tells me business is booming… and just look at yourself, getting married and all!"

"I know," Jake says, faking remorse. "It's terrible. _Years_ of rebellion wasted."

***

The wedding is held on La Push's secluded Second Beach, which is a romantic idea, except everyone has to traipse through the woods in formal wear on the way down. The vamps have it easy and are down in no time flat, without a hair out of place; the werewolves don't even break a sweat in their suits.

But humans and ex-werewolves don't have it so easy.

Quil ends up helping Charlie Swan down the trail, but even though they go slowly, he reaches the bottom sweating. The small group of human guests is in a similar condition. Sue Clearwater, though elegant, looks decidedly shiny, and Angela Weber-Call—heavily pregnant—is obviously miserable.

Amongst the group of his old friends' wives and children, he sees a few unfamiliar faces. "Hey, Sue," he says, pointing, "Who's that?"

Sue glances over. "That would be Vin's boyfriend Duke," she says.

"Oh." Quil blinks. "How about that girl next to him? Is she a pack girlfriend too?"

Sue shakes her head disapprovingly. "That's my cousin's granddaughter, Claire. She isn't technically supposed to be here—she isn't supposed to know about. Well. Things."

Quil gets it. "But she knows anyway, right?" Claire looks much too comfortable in this strange company. An outsider would be staring openly at the vampires, most of whom are now sparkling as the sun breaks out of the clouds, but this girl doesn't seem to care.

_She's pretty_, he thinks, as he watches her. Her smile is infectious, even with a gap in her front teeth. Her black hair is just past shoulder-length, curled and held away from her face in rhinestone bobby-pins. She's wearing a yellow dress patterned with multicolored polka-dots, and a hot pink sweater wrapped around her shoulders. She looks about twenty, maybe twenty-one. _Too young for me, but still…_.

"I think her aunt told her," Sue says flatly.

"Her aunt?"

"You remember Emily Young? She used to come over a lot, a long time ago, before she and my daughter fell out…"

And then it all comes rushing back. Emily's visit, a whole decade ago now. That cute ten-year-old that made him play Barbies.

_This is _that_ Claire? _My_ Claire?_

Over the years, he's often looked back to her sage advice on the beach, and thanked his lucky stars that the girl ever crossed his path. But he's never once thought about her actually _growing up_. It throws him for a moment. He has to look again, and again, to reconcile his mental image of the ten-year-old with braids with this lovely, confident young woman.

She catches his eye, and he realizes he's been staring. He looks away, embarrassed, but not before she smiles at him.

They gather around, and the wedding commences. _It's good_, Quil thinks, _to see Jake this happy_. The vows seem heartfelt (which is a good thing, because "til death do us part" is going to be a really, _really_ long time for this particular couple), and, when they kiss at the end, Quil has a hard time keeping himself from tearing up like a girl.

But, for all the sweetness and simplicity of the wedding, he has trouble paying attention. Claire's a little in front of him and to the left, and his eyes keep straying to her profile.

_You're being a creepy old man_, he tells himself sternly. _Don't even think about it_.

But the more he tries not to, the more he can't stop.

***

At the reception, Quil hugs old friends, eats more of those little sugary mints than he probably should, and tries to avoid being asked to dance by some vampire chick that keeps eyeing him up.

It's a weird party. Half the guests are unrealistically beautiful strangers, the other half people he grew up with but has drifted away from. The latter group confuses him almost as much as the former; it's hard to restart a friendship that's been on hold for eleven years. It doesn't help that their friendships were based on a shared connection that no longer exists. Instead of a pack, they're distinct individuals with lives of their own. Quil feels like he hardly knows them anymore, and they hardly know him.

He's off in a corner, his thoughts in this vein growing increasingly melancholy, when a small female hand slips into his.

"Quil Ateara?" asks Claire. "Aunt Sue told me who you were. Remember me? I'm Claire."

He gulps. "Yeah! Yeah, I remember you."

She laces her fingers through his, swings their hands back and forth playfully. "Want to dance? I noticed you've been sitting out all evening."

He can't refuse her.

It's a romantic playlist, all love songs. _Of course_. He sways with her, because he can't really do much more than that—he never did do much dancing. She doesn't seem to mind, but keeps eyeing him with a curious interest.

He takes a deep breath, because he just has to get this out of the way. "You know, Claire, your ten-year-old advice is the reason I've got a bachelor's degree and a desk job, instead of bumming around this place all my life. I've always wanted to thank you."

She blushes. "You're welcome." A pause, in which she looks like she wants to say more; then she says carefully, "I've always remembered that day on the beach, but not for my own career advice."

"Why, then?"

"It's silly. You'll laugh."

"I won't. Promise."

Her eyes wander everywhere but his face, and she laughs self-deprecatingly. "This is going to sound really dumb, but remember how you said you'd marry me when I got older? Whenever a boy broke my heart in high school, I consoled myself by thinking that at least one boy wanted to marry me." She finally meets his eyes, just for a moment, then blushes deeper. "Man, I guess. Not boy. Okay, you can laugh now."

"I'm not laughing," Quil says quietly. "You're a beautiful young woman, Claire. The man who does marry you will be a lucky one."

"But he won't be you?" He thinks she meant it as a statement, but it comes out a question.

"I'm too old for you," Quil says.

She laughs. "You're, what, thirty-something? I wouldn't buy a cane just yet, Mr. Ateara."

"So you're saying you want to marry a man fourteen years your senior?"

"I want to marry a man I love enough to spend eternity with," Claire says seriously. "Like Rennie did. What about you?"

"You always were one for instigating invasive personal conversations," Quil says, smiling wryly. "I've always been bad with girls. You know that. My only ex-girlfriend is marrying a pediatrician next month."

"But you've never been bad at talking to me," Claire points out.

"That is true."

The song stops, and they step apart—but before he can escape, Claire catches one of his hands and pulls a pen out of her pocket. "Here's my number," she says, writing it on the inside of his wrist, using the blue of his veins as an underline. "If you change your mind about being too old, call me. We might hit it off. We might not. Won't know, will we, until we try it?"

"No," says Quil, dazed, as her hot pink sweater disappears into the crowd. "No, we won't."

He looks at his wrist and smiles.

Author's note: THE END!

Thank you to everyone who's made it this far, and kept reading despite my habit of not updating for like months at a time. Thanks especially to those of you who reviewed - I feel guilty for not responding to them all, but believe me, I read them and they made me smile. :)

As a sort of thank-you present, here is a playlist of songs that I compiled and listened to on a loop while writing this fic. Have fun listening!

**The Dancing in the Dark Playlist**:

Title song: "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen

Sam/Leah: "Stuck With You" by Huey Lewis and the News // "Shape of My Heart" by the Backstreet Boys

Jacob/Rennie: "Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional // "Saltwater Room" by Owl City // "Jefferson Aeroplane" by Relient K

Jared/Kim: "Jesse's Girl" by Rick Springfield // "Just So You Know" by Jesse McCartney // "Crush" by David Archuleta

Paul/Rachel: "Your Song" by Elton John // "Womanizer" by Britney Spears

Embry/Angela: "Here (In Your Arms)" by Hellogoodbye

Quil/Claire friendship: "Somebody To Love" by Queen // "You Can't Hurry Love" by Phil Collins

Seth/Liz: "Does Your Mother Know" by ABBA

Sam/Emily (past): "The Way I Loved You" by Taylor Swift

Mike/Emily: "I Can Love You Like That" by All-4-One

Collin/Jessica/Brady: "Pretty Woman" by Roy Orbison


End file.
